


Gaily We Promenade

by CarolineShea



Category: Glee
Genre: Burt Hummel is my superhero, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Rimming, Slight power play but nothing heavy, ensemble fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 04:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10549982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolineShea/pseuds/CarolineShea
Summary: Written before 'Prom Queen,' this was my take on the McKinley High School Senior Prom and the weeks leading up to it. Lots of Klaine, but I think of this ultimately as an ensemble fic.





	1. Part One

 

_Three weeks out_

 

_  
_ Will has always believed that Principal Figgins is well-meaning at heart. A little misguided, perhaps, and slightly weak-willed, but ultimately Will has thought of him as a person who tries his best and genuinely cares about the students of McKinley.

There’s some evidence to the contrary – and in fact Will’s almost sure he’ll be changing his opinion when the first spring heat wave hits and the classrooms once again become stifling, suffocating saunas due to “the exorbitant costs of air conditioning,” – but Will’s greatest strength is his ability to believe the best about people.

It’s also his greatest failing.

And right now? He’s not sure _what_ to make of the man sitting in front of him.

“Principal Figgins… I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying to me here. What it _sounds_ like you’re saying is that you won’t even broach the issue with the Superintendent. Am I understanding that correctly?”

Principal Figgins sighs heavily. “William, _please_. You have already petitioned the school board and it has been made clear that the policy is to be enforced. I don’t see what”-

“But the Superintendent of the Lima City School District can overrule them.”

“William”-

“Can’t she?”

William, I am not going to phone the Superintendent and ask her if she will bend the rules just for the students of McKinley. And if we’re being honest, we both know that we are only talking about _one_ student.”

It’s easier to say this if he’s staring at the clock on Figgins’ desk or the “inspirational” posters on his wall. He’s afraid of what he’ll say if he’s forced to look him in the eye.

“Yes,” says Will evenly. “We both know we’re talking about Kurt Hummel. But, Principal Figgins, don’t you think we owe it to him? He was chased out of this school because the adults who were supposed to protect him stood by and did _nothing_ while he was bullied. It’s amazing to me that he even chose to come back. And since you asked: No - _of course_ I wouldn’t ask her to bend the rules for McKinley. It’s the district’s policy itself that needs to change.”

Principal Figgins looks very alarmed by the direction in which this conversation is headed. “I don’t want to cause”-

But now that he’s started, Will can’t seem to stop, and he lets the words that have been stewing inside of him pour out in an angry, unabated deluge.

“And you could be wrong,” he continues sharply. “For all both of us know, you could be wrong. Maybe Kurt _isn’t_ the only one. But if we keep the status quo, if we keep the same policies in place, if we keep letting the bullying slide - then it’s no wonder more students don’t feel comfortable coming out. They know that McKinley wouldn’t be a safe environment for them. Kurt Hummel is _brave_ , Principal Figgins. He’s strong and confident and he has friends who care about him and a supportive, loving family at home. If he didn’t have those things, he’d still be in the closet. That makes me think that there are plenty of students who still are.”

Figgins narrows his eyes, making him appear suddenly sterner. “It’s not our job to coax students into accepting their sexuality, William. Our job is to educate them.”

“And how are we supposed to do that if they don’t feel safe? Or if they feel like they have to hide who they are?”

“Let’s not be dramatic”-

“And I’m sorry, but it is nothing short of disgraceful that the school district makes no mention of sexual orientation in its non-discrimination policy. I’ve been bringing it up to the school board for the past year and they keep coming up with reasons to delay the vote. But we should _at least_ change that here. At _this_ school. The school board can’t object if we go above and beyond the requirements – not if we choose to do it of our own accord. And if we do it, it might pave the way for other schools. It might”-

“William, it’s admirable that you want to help the children this way, but I’m not sure we should be making political statements of this nature”-

And that’s it. That’s really the problem here.

“They’re not _children!”_ he shouts, his voice betraying all the frustration he’s experiencing. “I talk to them every day - and while it’s true that they still have a lot of life lessons ahead of them, they’re _not_ children. I used to think you used that word because you felt protectively toward the students. But now I’m starting to think it’s just a way for you to convince yourself that their feelings aren’t as real as yours.”

Will tries to rein himself in. He’s getting combative, and that’s the best way to make sure nothing gets accomplished.

“I’m sorry. I’ve gotten off-topic. I think the non-discrimination policy should be expanded, but that’s for another time. Right now I’m talking about one person and one specific situation. Kurt Hummel is eighteen years old,” he says, looking steadily at Principal Figgins. “He’s not a child. He’s been an exemplary student. He helped the McKinley Glee Club place third at Nationals. He’s been dating his boyfriend - who attends a different school – for over a year. He’ll be graduating from McKinley in four weeks and _all_ he wants is to take his boyfriend to his senior prom. I _really_ don’t feel that’s asking too much.”

“I’m sorry, William. I really am. But in this specific situation you speak of, my hands really are”-

“ _Don’t_ tell me they’re tied,” says Will, his voice shaking with emotion. “I can see them on the desk in front of you. You can either use them to pick up the phone and call the Superintendent - or you can let them sit there. The choice is yours.”

There is a long, uncomfortable pause, during which the older man gives him a long, measuring look. When they finally break eye contact, Will sees Figgins’ eyes drop down to his desk, where his hands are folded together.

“I don’t think it would change anything even if I made the call. But I’ll consider it.”

There is a ring of finality to this statement that lets Will know the meeting is over.

“Please do,” he says finally, nodding his head awkwardly and pulling open the door. He steps out into the hallway – and stops short abruptly at the sight in front of him.

Kurt is leaning against the adjacent wall, obviously having been waiting for him to emerge from the office. The expression on his face – the wide-eyed hopefulness in those startlingly clear blue-green eyes – forcibly reminds him of the way he’d looked when Will had first met him. He’d been a small, chubby-cheeked, baby-faced boy then, and there is barely a trace of him left in the tall young man standing before him, with the high, angular cheekbones and the cool, direct gaze.

“Can I … ask how it went?” asks Kurt, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and adjusting the strap of his messenger bag, a nervous habit he’s never quite outgrown.

“It, uh… it went good,” says Will, attempting to sound positive. “He said he’ll consider calling and he seemed fairly, um, receptive.”

Kurt’s eyes sweep searchingly over his face, and Will knows he’s not fooling him for one minute.

“But just in case Principal Figgins… can’t call for whatever reason, there are other steps we can take. We could…” Will wracks his brain. “…write letters or – or start like a… Facebook group? You guys still do that, right? We can talk about it some more at glee club this afternoon.”

Kurt gives him a fond, sad smile and Will’s heart clenches at the realization that they will, in fact, try those things he’s mentioned and that those things will, in fact, make no difference whatsoever. But they’ll do them anyway – and it won’t be Will going through the motions, trying to make Kurt feel better. It will be _Kurt_ indulging _Will_ by going through the motions. Because no matter how often or how spectacularly he fails, Will always has to be able to say to himself that he tried.

“Sounds good,” says Kurt flatly. “I have to get going, I’m late for physics. I just stopped by to see if…” He trails off.

“Do you want me to write you a pass so you don’t get in trouble?” asks Will, digging through his pockets for his stack of late passes.

Kurt shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got my college acceptance letter and I’m out of here in a few weeks. What are they going to do at this point – tell me I can’t go to prom?” He’s clearly aiming for a self-deprecating tone, but it comes out sounding high-pitched and slightly helpless.

“Kurt, I”-

“No.” Kurt shrugs him off. “I’m sorry. I’m just feeling bitchy today and that was - I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’re trying and I know it’s hard and – and I really do appreciate it. I’ll see you in glee, Mr. Schu.”

“Kurt, wait”-

But with a quick flick of his bangs, and a sharp turn of the heel, Kurt has flounced out of the conversation and down the hallway, and Will’s heart sinks at the realization that four weeks will be _just_ long enough for him to be a disappointment to Kurt _one_ last time.

 

 

  
**0000**

**0000**

**0000**    
 

 

 

_Two weeks out  
  
  
_

When Burt reaches his son’s room, he sees that the door is already slightly ajar. Pushing it open cautiously, he sees Kurt fluttering around the room, pulling out shirts and scarves from his overflowing closet and holding them up against the dark blue pants he’s obviously planning to wear tonight on his date with Blaine.

He raps his knuckles on the open door lightly. “Hey, kiddo. Mind if I come in?”  
  
Kurt spares him a quick glance. “No. Is something wrong?” He holds two red shirts up side by side, spends a few seconds comparing them, and then casts them both on his bed with a despairing sigh.

Burt shakes his head slowly. “Nope. I just, uh… I feel like I didn’t get to see you much this week. Seems like you’re always off with your friends or with Blaine these days.”  
  
His son’s eyes widen, the first traces of guilt creeping into his expression. “Dad, I’m”-  
  
Burt waves his hand dismissively. “Relax, kiddo. As I dimly recall, that’s pretty normal behavior for eighteen year olds. I just wanted to – check in with you. See how you’re doing.”  
  
Kurt raises a skeptical eyebrow at this, but seems to decide it’s worth playing along. “Everything’s fine, dad,” he says. “Grades are still good. Classes are still good. My friends are still good.”  
  
“You and Blaine?”  
  
His son stares very suspiciously at him, but Burt keeps his gaze level.  
  
“Blaine and I are fine, dad. Is there… some specific reason you’re asking?”

Burt shrugs. “Just – with you two going to different colleges and everything. Have you talked about it? What you’re going to do?”  
  
Kurt seems to relax a little at this. “Yeah. We have. We’ll be three hours driving distance from each other next year. And while that’s not ideal, we both think it’s doable. We’re going to try to make it work. Neither of us has unrealistic expectations. We know it’ll be hard, but”- Kurt shrugs. “-we both think it’s worth the effort.”  
  
Burt nods. “Well, good. I’m happy for you,” he says automatically. He waits for his actual feelings about this development to surface inside of him – and after a few seconds, when none appear, the truth sinks in: _Huh. I guess I really mean that.  
  
_ “Thanks,” says Kurt, holding up a green shirt with gray stripes, eyeing it critically, and then setting it back on the bed.  
  
“And glee club’s going well?”  
  
“Yeah. Since Nationals is over, we’re just kind of… meeting for the sake of meeting. We sing. We spend time together. We’re mostly splitting up after the summer, so… I don’t know. It’s nice.”  
  
Kurt picks up a shimmery silver shirt from a stack on his bed and makes a face at it. “Well, _hello_ , 2009. What are you and why are you still in my closet?” He stares at the shirt for a few more seconds and then sighs. “Although I suppose if anyone understands what it’s like to overstay their welcome in the closet, it’s me.” He pats the shirt’s shoulder and sets it back on the bed. “Take your time. I’ll be sure to send up some helpful pamphlets.”  
  
Burt bites back a laugh. _God_ , he loves this kid. As much as he’ll miss his son in an abstract sense next year – as much as he’ll suffer the same anxieties experienced by any parent whose child grows up and moves away – in a way it’s the day-to-day things like this he’ll miss the most. Kurt’s sense of humor, the bizarre get-ups he puts on each day, his trademark facial expressions, and of course his smile – a smile that has been emerging significantly more often since he’s been dating Blaine.  
  
But now Burt’s gotten off-track. “And the prom campaign?” he asks Kurt casually. “How’s that going?”  
  
“Okay, I guess,” says Kurt absently. “We sent a few e-mails today, just to see if”-  
  
And then realization dawns on him, as he snaps his eyes up to Burt’s. “I mean”-  
  
“Yeah,” says Burt conversationally. “Interesting how I had to hear about this from Finn. Apparently the glee club’s been spending the last week writing letters and sending e-mails and making phone calls on my son’s behalf. You’d think my son might have clued me in on this, but”-  
  
Kurt stares at him pleadingly. “Dad, I”-  
  
“Kurt, why in the _world_ would you not tell me about this? Did you think I wouldn’t think it was important? Did you think I wouldn’t help you? Hell, if I’d known earlier, I would have done _everything_ – I could have threatened to sue, I could have spoken to” –  
  
“Dad,” says Kurt loudly, cutting him off. “I – look – this is exactly why I didn’t tell you, okay? I mean, I know I _should_ have told you, but I just...” He pauses, searching for the words. Burt has found himself at a loss for words around his son more times than he can count, so he waits patiently for Kurt to figure out what he wants to say.  
  
“Okay,” Kurt says finally. “So here’s the thing. I know you’d do those things. I absolutely know that and I’m so, so grateful. But I just didn’t want this to be _about_ that. I didn’t want to raise hell or – or ‘fight the good fight’ or shove our way in. I didn’t want to be ‘that gay guy whose dad threatened to sue the school district’ or ‘that kid whose dad threatened to take a flamethrower to the place.’” Kurt raises an accusatory eyebrow in Burt’s direction and Burt rolls his eyes.  
  
“I mean, Rachel even offered to have her dads contact the ACLU and try to dredge up some support or media attention – but I told her no. Because the whole point of my taking Blaine to the prom is that I’d want to feel like every other kid. We just want to feel normal.”  
  
Kurt lets out a low, frustrated sigh. “And apparently I’m still really naïve, but I honestly thought that if we did everything by the book… if we explained the situation and let them see that Blaine and I are real people – _good_ people – with faces and names who just want to hold hands and slow dance on prom night like every other senior... I guess it’s stupid, but I thought they might change their minds.”  
  
Burt swallows the lump that’s starting to form in his throat. “And…?”  
  
“We’re going to keep trying this week. Glee club’s working on it.”  
  
“Can’t you just get – I don’t know – Mercedes or someone to take Blaine?”  
  
Kurt shrugs. “There’s basically no point. Unless I get the policy changed, we still wouldn’t be allowed to dance together. And you know the thing that really sucks about that? That rule’s really only enforced for _guys_. No one objects to that stupid faux-lesbian dancing girls do all the time.”  
  
Burt blinks. “Huh?”  
  
Kurt side-eyes him. “I keep forgetting you attended high school in the bronze age. Eh. It’s a thing girls do. Crawl all over each other on the dance floor with the sole intent of whipping teenage boys into a sexual frenzy. My point being that no one would protest that flagrant violation – but I can only imagine that if Blaine and I were to touch _fingertips_ while dancing, some jerk on the hockey team would be running up to the chaperones, claiming they’d been traumatized by the hideous gays.”  
  
“I see,” says Burt, even though he’s still kind of stuck on how apparently dances had changed a lot since the late 80s. “Well, hey. Uh… speaking of… lesbians.” Kurt raises an eyebrow in alarm. “Uh – aren’t those cheerleaders together? Don’t they want to go to prom?”  
  
“Oh – you mean Brittany and Santana?”  
  
“Yeah. Aren’t they a couple?”  
  
Kurt looks thoughtful. “No. Nobody really knows for sure what happened. They _were_ together, but then Brittany got into college”-  
  
Burt gapes. “God, seriously?”  
  
Kurt laughs. “On a dance scholarship, but yeah. She’s going to… I think it’s called East Carolina University? It’s nowhere near Ohio, anyway, and Santana’s going to college in state. She broke it off with Brittany after they got their acceptance letters, and Brittany’s just been… a mess, really. I know she asked Santana to go to the prom with her – just as friends, even - but Santana turned her down flat. That’s why Mercedes and I took Brittany out shopping last week. We were trying to cheer her up - although in my expert opinion, she’s beyond retail therapy. She’s inconsolable.”  
  
“So it’s definitely just you that wants to bring”-  
  
“Mm-hmm. Don’t worry, though. I’m used to it by now.”  
  
And I guess Dalton doesn’t have a prom, huh?”  
  
Kurt shakes his head. “No. Their sister school hosts one, but Blaine doesn’t know any of the girls well enough to be invited. And _I_ certainly don’t.”  
  
Burt sighs. “And so what happens if your campaign doesn’t work?”  
  
Kurt picks up a pale blue scarf from the bed and skims his fingers along the edges of it, lightly tugging on a frayed thread. He determinedly avoids meeting his father’s questioning stare.  
  
“Then I guess it doesn’t work,” he says flatly.  
  
Burt’s eyes widen in disbelief. “No, kiddo,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s the point when I get involved. I should have been involved way before now. I”-  
  
“No, dad.” He says it very quietly, but there’s no mistaking the conviction behind it.  
  
“Kurt”-  
  
His son meets his gaze at last, and Burt almost has to stifle a gasp. He looks _so_ much like Kate right now. God, the color of his eyes – the long, lean lines of his posture – the slight tilt of his head – that same serene “Don’t-you-dare-worry-about-me,” expression that his wife had given him too many times to count over the years.  
  
Burt’s never been one to analyze or overthink things. But all the same, he can’t help wondering how it’s possible for his son to resemble his mother so strongly right now, and how in this same moment Kurt has _never_ looked more like a grown man.

“Dad, I’m moving away in three months. We’re both kidding ourselves if we think I won’t face problems at college because of – well, because of who I am. If I phone you or text you every time some jerk calls me a name or a drunken jackass writes something on my dorm room door, our cell phone bill will be astronomical. And I’ll be worrying you for nothing because you won’t be able to help. You can’t stop people from hating me and you can’t keep me from getting hurt -”  
  
“Damn it, Kurt, that’s my _job_ as a parent - to keep you from getting hurt.”  
  
Kurt shakes his head and brushes back the bangs that have fallen into his eyes. “But dad, sooner or later, that has to be _my_ job. I mean, yeah, things are definitely changing for the better, but people are still very homophobic, and I’m still very… homo.”  
  
Burt shoots his son a dark look, but Kurt shrugs it off.  
  
“What? It’s true, isn’t it? I’m not looking to throw a pity party – I’m just trying to be realistic. I might always get a few strange glances when I’m out in public. I might get turned down for a job because of how I look or sound. Depending on where I live, I might not be able to get married. And like it or not, you can’t fix those kinds of problems by sitting down for a stern chat with my principal.”  
  
“Listen, Kurt. I – there’s already a lot of stuff I can’t help you with”-  
  
His son looks shocked. “Dad, what? No – that’s not what I”-  
  
Burt holds up a hand. “Just let me get this out, kiddo. Do you remember when we talked in the auditorium that time? You were upset about me and Finn and you sang that song?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And I said that I used to think about – you know – taking you to baseball games or talking about girls with you?”  
  
Kurt looks wary. “Yeah. I remember.”  
  
“Well, I know I didn’t say this at the time, but, uh – that kinda works both ways, ya know?”  
  
His son’s face wrinkles in confusion. “I don’t understand…”  
  
Burt sighs. “There are things I wish I could be for you, too. Like I wish I was someone who knew more about… singing. Or clothes. Or books. I was never much of a student, but I know you like to read. And I know you like politics. I never really… got into that.”  
  
Kurt shakes his head, eyes wide. “Dad, I don’t care about”-  
  
“Yeah, you do. That doesn’t mean you’d want me to change, and it doesn’t mean you love me any less – but tell me you wish I didn’t dress a little differently. Tell me you don’t wish you could say, ‘Hey, I just finished chapter four of _War and Peace_ ,’ and not have my eyes glaze over.”  
  
“Dad”-  
  
“I wish I was stronger, Kurt. Or I wish you thought I was. I wish you never felt like you had to keep stuff from me to protect me”-  
  
Kurt gasps. _“What?”  
  
_ “- I know you didn’t tell me half of what happened to you at McKinley. I found out about the death threat by accident. You never would have told me on your own, and I know there are other things you still aren’t telling me”-  
  
He sees Kurt flinch a little.  
  
“But my point is – you’re right. You’ll face a lot of problems in your life, Kurt, and it kills me to know there’s not much I can do. I can’t change a whole society. I can’t fix rules or laws by myself. But I _can_ fight for my kid to take a date to his prom like every other senior. I can’t guarantee I’ll win – but I want you to let me try. What do you say, kiddo?”  
  
Kurt picks up a light purple scarf made out of a thin, gauzy material. Burt thinks it looks like something a ballerina might wear.  
  
“Blaine’s father dresses nicely.”  
  
Burt raises an eyebrow. “Huh?”   
  
Kurt looks up at him with watery eyes. He lets go of the scarf and it floats gracefully down on top of the comforter. “I said,” he says, swallowing heavily, “that Blaine’s father dresses nicely. I’ve only ever seen him wearing business suits, but they’re very sharp. Stylish. Expertly tailored. And he’s very well-informed about politics. And he’s an avid reader; I’m sure he could talk to Blaine and I about _War and Peace_ all evening.”  
  
“Kurt”-  
  
“And he doesn’t love Blaine. He just.. _doesn't_. When I’m around, he can barely _look_ at Blaine. So whenever you start thinking that there are things you _wish_ you could be for me… just do me a favor and stop those thoughts right in their tracks, okay?”  
  
The expression on Kurt’s face is one Burt has only seen a handful of times: It is loving and tender and wistful - and it contains a good measure of bewildered gratitude.  
  
Yeah. Burt knows this look. Goddammit, he _hates_ this look.  
  
He understands what this expressions means. At some point along the way, Kurt had decided that loving him must be a difficult and challenging thing for Burt to do.  
  
The worst part is that other people seem to agree, judging from the way that his relatives and friends will sometimes shake their heads at Burt – usually after he’s been bragging about Kurt’s accomplishments – and say, ‘You’re such a wonderful parent’ or ‘Really, it’s just incredible the way you are with him.’  
  
Burt’s never been the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but he’s damn sure that other parents don’t get that kind of response when they brag about their kids. He hates that response; he _hates_ that people act as though fulfilling the only parenting requirement that matters – loving your kid unconditionally - is lauded as some noble _sacrifice_ on his part. Loving Kurt is the easiest thing he’s ever done; it’s as natural and as necessary to his survival as breathing.  
  
The look Burt sees on his son’s face tells him that Kurt understands that not every parent loves their child, and that being gay often factors into that. And if Burt can bring himself to resent Blaine for anything, it’s for the fact that Kurt has seen evidence of these emotionally distant, judgmental parents - and that his son now considers it a _lucky_ thing that he’s loved and respected the way he is.  
  
“I love you,” he tells Kurt - and he hadn’t really meant to say that just then, but so what? It’s always true.  
  
Kurt’s face falls into a relaxed grin. “I love you, too. And - um - Dad? About prom?”  
  
Burt raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”  
  
“I meant what I said about not wanting to make a big scene.”  
  
“I know,” says Burt. “I get that, kiddo – I won’t do anything without your permission. But I really would like to help.”  
  
“How are your envelope-licking skills?” asks Kurt.  
  
“A little rusty,” admits Burt. “But I’ll do my best.”  
  
“You always do,” says Kurt, shaking his head fondly just as the doorbell rings. Kurt gasps in horror. “Oh, crap – that’s Blaine! And I never decided…” He glances down at the bed, quickly selects an emerald green cardigan, and disappears into his walk-in closet.  
  
Burt stares after him suspiciously. “Is that a _men’s_ sweater?”  
  
“Fashion has no gender, Dad!” comes the reply from behind the door.  
  
Burt rolls his eyes as he walks down the stairs to let Blaine in. He tries to be understanding; he really does, but…  
  
…does it make him a terrible father if he admits he _really_ hopes Kurt doesn’t wear a tiara to the prom?

  
  
**0000  
  
0000  
  
0000**

  
  
“Okay… how does this sound? Dear Mr. Santiago…”  
  
“Mm-hmm.”

“…my name is Kurt Hummel, and I’m writing to you with regard to…the…Lima City School District’s policy regarding same-s-sex couples at school f-functions…”  
  
“Mm-hmm.”  
  
“My boyfriend and I are - _ohh_ \- a loving couple who s-see nothing thre- threatening or inappropriate about our relation _shiiiip...”_ Kurt ends the sentence on a whine and throws the letter over the side of the bed. “…and I’m thinking that sentence _might_ have sounded better if you – _nngh_ \- weren’t _going down_ on me right now, Blaine…”  
  
“Mmm…”  
  
Kurt groans and lets himself collapse backward onto Blaine’s bed. “No doubt Mr. Santiago would find this… _uhh_... highly inappropriate.”  
  
“ _Mm-hmm_ …”  
  
“You know, I didn’t used to be a- able to talk during this. So clearly your skills have – _oh_ – oh my _god_ , what are you - ? Oh…oh… _oohh… ngh.._ ”  
  
And after that point, Kurt doesn’t really have anything substantive to add to the conversation – at least for the next ten minutes or so.

  
  
**0000  
  
0000  
  
0000  
**

**  
  
** “I hate you,” Kurt mutters into his boyfriend’s shoulder.  
  
“You love me,” Blaine informs him, pulling Kurt even tighter against him.  
  
Kurt sighs. “Yeah, that, too.”  
  
Blaine brushes Kurt’s bangs back and kisses his forehead. “So I take it from your attempted letter-reading that you’re still fighting the prom battle, huh?”  
  
“Very much so.” Kurt skims his fingers across the bare skin of his boyfriend’s chest. “And it’s going about as well as I thought it would.”  
  
“You know that I’m okay either way, right? I mean, it matters to me – because it matters to _you_ – but I won’t be heartbroken if we don’t get to go. Dalton doesn’t have a prom, so I never really thought I’d be attending one.”  
  
Kurt hooks his leg over Blaine’s ankle, bringing them as close together as he possibly can. He tilts his head, capturing his boyfriend’s mouth in a soft kiss. “Didn’t you ever dream about it, though? The lights…” Another kiss. “…the music…” Another one. “…slow dancing…”  
  
Blaine shrugs. “Not really. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll gladly go with you. But I always thought it was kind of a heterosexual cliché. Basically an excuse for people to drop hundreds of dollars on clothes they’ll never wear again and a last-ditch effort to lose your virginity before graduating high school.”  
  
Kurt waits impatiently for Blaine to finish and then kisses him again. “Well, that’s too bad,” he says quietly against Blaine’s mouth. “Because I was kind of thinking we could lose our virginity on prom night. But hey, if you hate clichés…”  
  
“Well, I don’t _hate_ them, I just…” And then realization hits. “Wait – what? Oh my god, Kurt! Are you serious?”  
  
Kurt shrugs, trying not to smile. “Yes. But really, you’re right, Blaine – it’s all just a big hetero cliché, and I would hate to make you participate in”-  
  
“What – no!” says Blaine, his eyes widening. “I _love_ cliches! I’ve always thought there was something so sweet and, um, wholesome about them. Really, they’re adorable!”  
  
Kurt raises a critical eyebrow. “Are they now?”  
  
Blaine frowns suddenly. “Okay, you _do_ that know that I’m not interested in having sex if _I’m_ the only one interested in having sex?”  
  
Kurt laughs. “I know. I’m just teasing you. Trust me – I am _very_ interested in having sex with you. I’m kind of amazed that it’s been over a year and we still haven’t."  
  
“It’s not that surprising. We only get to see each other on weekends, and when we do see each other we’re either at home with our parents or we’re somewhere public. The mall. The movies.”  
  
“Hey,” says Kurt with mock severity, “we have made some _lovely_ memories in the back of movie theatres.”  
  
Blaine grins. “Yeah, well, a hand job we can get away with. I would assume penetrative sex is _probably_ more difficult to conceal.”  
  
“Hopefully. If we’re doing it right.”  
  
“Anyway,” says Blaine. “We seem to have gotten off-track. Where was I?”  
  
Kurt nips gently at Blaine’s jaw. “You were telling me how sweet and wholesome it will be to fuck me in the ass.”  
  
Blaine pulls back from Kurt. “Wait – wait… who said _you_ were going to be the one getting”-  
  
Kurt groans in frustration. “No, Blaine. No, no, no. We are _not_ having this discussion again!”  
  
“I’m serious, Kurt.”  
  
“So am I.”  
  
Kurt’s tempted to throw a pillow at his boyfriend; he seriously is. This will be the _fourth_ time they’re having this discussion. And here’s the thing: It’s not that Kurt has any actual experience in this realm, but he’s pretty sure Blaine’s more of a top than he is. When Kurt fantasizes about having sex – which is admittedly often – he usually imagines himself _being fucked_ by Blaine. (Okay, and sometimes by Daniel Radcliffe. But _mostly_ by Blaine.)  
  
And judging from the other sexual activities they’ve indulged in, Blaine likes to physically _be_ on top. He likes the control; likes spreading Kurt out - and pinning him down - and Kurt just finds that unbearably hot.  
  
So, while he may not understand everything about bedroom dynamics, it seems like an obvious enough place to _start_ , right?  
  
But no. Blaine is insisting that Kurt fuck _him_.  
  
Kurt is fairly sure that this is Blaine’s ridiculous idea of chivalry – “I cannot stand the idea of hurting you, my delicate flower!” – and really, just who does Blaine think he is? Kurt spent most of middle school and high school being shoved into lockers and thrown into dumpsters and tripped in the hallways on a daily basis. And he’s done enough research – yes, he’s read the damn pamphlets – to know that there are ways to minimize the pain of sex. He knows Blaine will be as gentle as he can be, he knows that Blaine will stop if he asks him to, and in general Kurt’s just more comfortable with the idea of receiving.  
  
But his boyfriend won’t hear of it. And so the debate rages.  
  
“Kurt, I’m telling you”-  
  
Kurt bristles. “Oh, so now you’re _telling_ me?”  
  
Blaine backs away from that statement hastily. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying I’d prefer to bottom the first time.”  
  
“Yes, Blaine. Like the last forty-three times you’ve told me, _I hear you._ And I’m saying that I’d prefer the opposite.”  
  
“But… I’d _really_ prefer it.” And Blaine says it so plaintively that Kurt lets himself consider something for the very first time.  
  
“Blaine,” he says cautiously, “when you say that you’d prefer it that way the first time… do you _just_ mean the first time? Or would you want to top eventually?”  
  
His boyfriend tilts his head up, his dark curls falling into his face as he considers the question. He bites his lip thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he says finally.  
  
Kurt’s heart sinks a little. “And when you think about us having sex, like in your fantasies,” he says. “How do you – uh – how are we?”  
  
A slight flush appears on his boyfriend’s gorgeous face. “Um… I’m on top, usually. But you’re, uh, inside _me_. If that’s what you’re asking.”  
  
Kurt lets the moment hang between them for a few seconds. He’s so stunned that he can barely choke out the next sentence. “Oh my god, Blaine. Are we – are we really _both_ bottoms?”  
  
Blaine laughs. “I guess it’s possible.”  
  
Kurt groans. “Talk about star-crossed.”  
  
“Well, to be fair, we don’t really know _what_ we are yet. And most guys _do_ switch, even if they tend to favor one position over the other.”  
  
“But… but what do we do now?” whines Kurt. “Now that I know you’re serious about this”-  
  
Blaine disentangles himself from Kurt’s arms, turns over onto his stomach, and reaches over to his right to rummage in the drawer of his nightstand.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“Getting something from my nightstand,” says Blaine helpfully.  
  
“Gee, thanks,” mutters Kurt. “And what might that something be?” He can hear several objects rattling around in the drawer.  
  
“Something that will help us with our problem.”  
  
Kurt lets out a small squeak. “Is it some type of … sex toy? Or – oh – Blaine, are you getting a _condom?”  
  
“_ Nope.”  
  
Kurt, who had been lounging on the bed, shifts impatiently into a sitting position. “Okay, so what - ?”  
  
“We’ve tried discussing it. We’ve tried arguing about it. We’ve tried reasoning it out. We’ve tried debating it. And I think it’s time that we stopped talking altogether and just – oh, here we go.” And Blaine shuts the drawer, with his left hand closed tightly around an object.  
  
Kurt blinks in confusion as Blaine extends his arm, palm upward, toward Kurt and then opens his hand to reveal-  
  
“Oh… _no_. Forget it, Blaine. No.”  
  
“Kurt”-  
  
“Blaine Anderson!” hisses Kurt. “We are not _flipping a damn coin_ to see which one of us… it’s ridiculous!”  
  
Blaine stares patiently at Kurt. “Why?”

“Because… because…” he splutters. He looks at Blaine, then looks down at the coin. Then he looks back up at Blaine, who is giving Kurt his notorious, ‘You-know-I’m-right-about-this’ expression.  
  
“Do you have a better idea?” asks Blaine, in an infuriatingly reasonable tone.  
  
Kurt closes his eyes. When he opens them, Blaine is still sitting across from him, wide-eyed and hopeful, with a dime resting innocently in the middle of his outstretched palm.

“I can’t _believe_ I’m agreeing to this!” wails Kurt.   
  
Blaine grins. “Awesome. Okay, I’ll flip it and whichever one I land on is the position that I’ll”-  
  
“Wait – wait. How do we know what means what?”  
  
Blaine raises an eyebrow. “Seriously – just think about it for a second, Kurt _. Heads. Tails_. This game couldn’t be more suited to the question at hand.”  
  
Kurt blinks. “Oh my god, that’s - wow… I’ll _never_ be able to look at a coin toss the same way.”  
  
“Okay,” says Blaine, inhaling sharply. “So if it lands on heads, that means I’ll… you know...”  
  
“Fuck me?” supplies Kurt helpfully.  
  
Blaine throws him a dark look. “Yes. And if it’s tails, you’ll fuck me. Sound fair?”  
  
Kurt nods. “If you tell _anyone_ this story _ever_ , I will kill you. But yes. Very fair.”  
  
Blaine flips the coin. It lands anti-climactically on the comforter, between the two boys, and they both lean in and peer down to see…  
  
“Tails,” breathes out Blaine.  
  
Kurt swallows nervously. “Tails it is.”  
  
Blaine rubs a soothing hand across Kurt’s knee. “You know we don’t have to do this, right? It’s just – if we’re going to – I mean, one of us has to”-  
  
“I _know_ one of us has to,” snaps Kurt. “I’m a virgin, not an idiot.” He softens at Blaine’s hurt look. “And yes. Yes, I want to. On prom night.”  
  
“What if we don’t get to go to the prom?” asks Blaine.

Kurt considers this. “I think we probably _won’t_ get to go to the prom,” he admits. “But I think we should still get dressed up. And I think we should get a hotel room and drink sparkling cider and give each other corsages and give each other…”  
  
“…each other?”  
  
“That’s horribly cheesy, but yes.”  
  
Blaine stares at Kurt carefully. “And you’re sure you’d rather do that than, like, stage a sit-in or a protest or…”  
  
Kurt nods. “Yeah. As much as I hate the policy, I don’t want to do anything that would ruin the prom for my friends. They deserve to have a perfect night, too. And – you know – it might almost work better if we don’t make a scene. Like maybe someone will think, ‘Oh, that sucks. That guy didn’t get to go to his prom. Someone should really do something about that.’ And then… maybe someone _will_ do something about that.”  
  
Blaine nods. “I get that.”  
  
Kurt shoots Blaine a sideways grin. “Besides which, I really can’t think of a better ‘fuck you’ to the Lima City School District. You won’t let us go to prom? Too bad. We’ll spend the evening having lots and lots of gay sex.”  
  
Blaine smiles at that thought as he lies back down on the bed, curling himself around Kurt. Kurt shivers slightly at the feel of his boyfriend’s breath against his ear.  
  
“I think we’ll get there, Kurt,” he whispers, almost as if to himself. “I think we’ll make it.”  
  
Kurt twists himself around to meet his boyfriend’s eyes. “You mean the prom?”  
  
Blaine leans forward, and Kurt barely catches the word before Blaine’s mouth is on his:  
  
“No.”  


  
  
  
 

 


	2. Part Two-A

  _  
One Week Out  
_

  
“…and it’s like – it’s kind of hard to describe. It’s turquoise blue, but then it has a sheer black overlay so it makes the blue more muted”-  
  
“Mine’s white, but it’s not like _white_ -white. It’s sort of a shimmery iridescent fabric, and then it has an asymmetrical hemline with this little ruffle at the bottom”-  
  
“Oh, wow, that sounds gorgeous.”  
  
“Thank you, Tina! My dads helped me pick it out.”  
  
That’s about as much of the conversation as Kurt catches before Rachel, Mercedes, and Tina see him enter the choir room and abruptly end the conversation, exchanging guilty looks.  
  
Kurt groans. “Guys, _stop._ Come on, you’ve been doing this all week. You can talk about the prom, okay?”  
  
“But it’s just”-  
  
“We don’t want to make you feel”-  
  
“I’m _fine,_ ” he tells them. “Look, I’m trying to strike a delicate balance here – staying optimistic and hopeful while resigning myself to the fact that it might not happen. You’ve all been incredible the last few weeks, and it’s just making me feel worse when everyone looks at me like I’m going to start throwing things at them.”  
  
Rachel fidgets uncomfortably. “But”-  
  
“Now you’re just being obtuse,” says Kurt, rolling his eyes. “Seriously, Rachel, you’ve known me how long? Am I the sort of person who says things I don’t mean just to spare people’s feelings?”  
  
“No, you are not,” answers Rachel emphatically.  
  
“Exactly. Besides which, have you ever known me to stand in the way of a conversation about ladies’ fashion? I’m already annoyed enough that Mercedes didn’t take me prom dress shopping due to a _misguided_ sense of loyalty,” he says, glaring at her.  
  
Mercedes glares right back. “Well, pardon me for trying to be sensitive. I thought it might upset you.”  
  
“You are _un_ -pardoned, my friend. Prom dress shopping. _Without_ _me._ Unacceptable.”  
  
“I’ll tell you all about my dress after glee?” wheedles Mercedes. Kurt raises an eyebrow, nonplussed. “And I’ll let you have input on both make-up _and_ hairstyle?” Kurt’s expression wavers and – sensing weakness - Mercedes goes in for the kill. “Maybe we can discuss it over manicures at the Azur Salon?”  
  
Kurt gasps. “Oh, now you’re just playing _dirty.”  
_  
Mercedes nods proudly. “I know all your weak spots, Hummel. Sold?”  
  
"Sold.”  
  
“Kurt?” pipes up Brittany suddenly from across the room.  
  
“Yeah?"  
  
“What are you going to wear to prom if they let you guys go?”  
  
Kurt opens his mouth to tell the girls all about the _fabulous_ tuxedo he’d selected (midnight-blue with silver accents) when-  
  
“He’s not going to prom, Brittany. There’s no way they let him. No one wants to see an eleven-year-old milkmaid dancing with a freaking hobbit.”  
  
Kurt narrows his eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Santana. I guess I don’t need to ask why you’ve been the _least_ helpful glee club member with regard to my prom crusade?”  
  
Santana shrugs. “I’m not kidding, Hummel. No one wants to see two dudes grinding all over each other. With a hot couple like Brittany and me, this ‘crusade’ might stand a chance, but”-  
  
“You and me?” Brittany’s voice is soft, but there’s no mistaking the slight quaver in her voice.  
  
Santana glares at Brittany angrily, looking as though she’s regretting her word choice. “I’m saying if we were a couple. Which we’re totally not, okay?”  
  
Brittany nods. “I… I know. But – I still don’t have a date for prom, Santana. _Please_ help us with Kurt and Blaine. And if they let them go, then - then maybe we can go together. Just as friends, I promise.”  
  
Santana rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Brit. Don’t come crying to me that you don’t have a date. You could go with practically anyone.”  
  
The look in Brittany’s eyes makes Kurt’s breath catch in his throat. _“Please_ , Santana? I don’t want to go with anyone. I want to go with you.”  
  
Santana jerks herself out of her seat swiftly, swinging her purse over her arm. “Get over it, Brittany. I’m not going to the prom with you.” Her chest is heaving slightly. “In fact, I’m not going to the _stupid_ prom at all.”  
  
And having said her piece, she spins around on her heel, the pleats of her Cheerios skirt flouncing defiantly around her as she storms out of the choir room.  
  
There are a few seconds of seconds, broken by an audible sniff. Kurt looks up to see Brittany hunched over, rubbing weakly at her red-rimmed eyes. Quinn immediately begins soothing Brittany, smoothing her hair and whispering words of sympathy.  
  
As for Kurt? He has other plans.  
  
“Kurt?” asks Mercedes, alarmed. “What are you doing? Are you actually dumb enough to try going after her when she’s like this?”  
  
“As a matter of fact, I am,” he replies airily, striding toward the door. “Is that okay with you, Brittany?”  
  
She nods slowly. “Kurt?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“You’re the best ex-boyfriend _ever.”_  
  
“Thanks, Brittany. I think it’s safe to say you’ll _always_ be my favorite ex-girlfriend.”  
  
  
**0000  
  
0000  
  
0000  
**  
  
Kurt hears her before he can see her. There can’t be anyone else loudly throwing objects into a locker on a Friday after school. He rounds the corner – and sure enough, there she is, rifling through the contents of her locker, two angry spots of color visible on her cheekbones.  
  
“Hi, Santana,” he says coolly as he approaches her.  
  
“What do _you_ want, Hummel?” she hisses.  
  
Kurt leans against the locker next to hers. “You and I need to have a little chat.”  
  
She throws him a mocking smile. “Girl to girl?”  
  
He keeps his gaze level. “Sure.”  
  
Santana seems annoyed that he hadn’t risen to her bait. “Fine. What do we need to chat about?”  
  
“I think you know.”  
  
“Actually, I don’t. I have no clue why the hell you’re hovering over me - like an annoying little _fairy.”_  
  
Kurt has to fight back a smile. _Really?_ She thinks _this_ will get to him? “I’m here,” he says carefully, “because I care about my friends.”  
  
“Brittany doesn’t need _you_ to stick up for her, Hummel.”  
  
“I wasn’t talking about Brittany.”  
  
Santana narrows her eyes. “What?”  
  
“Come on, Santana,” says Kurt. “The only person in this school who does the ‘bitch act’ as well as you? Is _me._ I can see right through it - because I know exactly what it is and where it comes from. So spill.”  
  
“Spill what?” she asks, but there’s less venom in her voice now.  
  
“I want to know what happened between you and Brittany.”  
  
Santana looks up at him, and her expression is almost fearful now. “You won’t tell her about this?”  
  
Kurt sighs. “To be honest, I’m hoping I can convince _you_ to talk to her. But no. I won’t tell her anything you don’t want me to.”  
  
Santana presses her lips together in a thin line and looks away from Kurt, not meeting his eyes. “I’m doing this for her. Okay?”  
  
“You’re treating her horribly for her own good?”  
  
She sets her jaw firmly. “Yes.”  
  
“And you’re treating _me_ horribly because…?”  
  
“…because it makes me feel better, I guess? I don’t know. I kind of hate that you’re all happy with your boy-toy.”  
  
He rolls his eyes. “Very mature, Santana.”  
  
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? But I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to be a big _lesbo_ and I didn’t ask to fall in love with her”-  
  
“Believe me; I get it. You didn’t sign up for this and neither did I. But you know what? It happened. _We’re gay._ Get over it. God, is _that_ what this is about? You’re still in the midst of a big gay crisis? News flash: Everyone at this school knows, Santana.”  
  
“Yeah, everyone at this school knows,” she hisses angrily. “But not the rest of the world.”  
  
“Santana”-  
  
“Not my parents,” she says meaningfully.  
  
Kurt blinks. “Oh.”  
  
“Yeah,” she says. “And I just - look, I _really_ didn’t think she’d get into college, okay? I mean, call me a bitch if you want, but I just didn’t. And I thought – I don’t know, I guess I thought we could be together in Ohio. She could get a job and live with me off-campus. Or maybe she’d go to community college or... whatever.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“But then she freaking got into college in North Carolina? I mean… _North Carolina_ , Kurt. It's so freaking far from Lima! I mean, things were bad here when Brittany and I came out, and everyone at McKinley knows I’m a vicious bitch. And what in the world would I say to my parents? I want to go to some random university down south because ‘my friend’ is going there? I’d have to explain about Brittany and I – and they’d _never_ understand.”  
  
“Well, you could try the long-distance thing…”  
  
Santana practically snarls at him. “Are you crazy?”  
  
“Well, Blaine and I are”-  
  
“This is about her _safety_ , moron. She’d show up to this college – and she’s absolutely gorgeous so she’d get asked out, like, a million times the first week – and she’d say, ‘No, I have a girlfriend’ and – and I wouldn’t fucking _be there_ to protect her. People would call her names and say shit to her; you know they would. And she’d be _really_ lucky if that’s the worst thing that happens to her. And it doesn’t have to be that way.”  
  
“What do you…?”  
  
“Brittany doesn’t even like girls all that much. I’ve accepted that I’m pretty damn gay, but I’m _it_ for Brittany as far as chicks go. If she’s not with me, she’ll pass for straight. She’ll get a boyfriend and – and then, you know, whatever. She’ll be happy.”  
  
“No, she won’t. She’ll be miserable. And you know why? Because she’s _in love with you_ , Santana. And the thing I don’t get is… why haven’t you just explained all this to Brittany?”  
  
Santana scoffs at him. “Are you kidding me? You know what she’s like. I mean, I love her, but she wouldn’t even understand what I was saying. _Breakfast_ confuses her.”  
  
Kurt raises his eyebrows. “Well. I can understand how it would be difficult to date a total idiot.”  
  
Her jaw drops. “Don’t talk about Brittany that way!”  
  
“I wasn’t talking about Brittany.”  
  
  
**0000  
  
0000  
  
0000  
**  
  
“What’s this?” asks Kurt, confused.  
  
“What’s it look like?” asks Finn, sliding the glass carefully across the kitchen table toward Kurt.  
  
“It looks like you made me warm milk. I’m touched.”  
  
“It’s _cold_ milk,” says Finn, raising an eyebrow. “Warm milk’s gross.”  
  
Kurt smiles fondly at his stepbrother. “Well, it’s very sweet. May I ask what occasion this is supposed to be marking?”  
  
Finn stares at him blankly. “Huh?”  
  
Kurt sighs. “What’s with the milk, Finn?”  
  
“Oh. Well, I know this prom thing is stressing you out. And… you kinda look like you have a lot on your mind tonight. Do you wanna, like, talk about anything?”  
  
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought, but I’m not sure how much help you’d be. Not because you’re not helpful,” he clarifies quickly, “it’s just – it’s kind of a _gay_ thing.” Finn looks extremely alarmed and Kurt hastens to correct his assumption. “No, no, no. Not _that_ kind of gay thing. I’m just not sure how much sense this problem will make to someone who _isn’t_ gay.”  
  
His stepbrother shrugs. “So try me. I’m a good listener.”  
  
“You are?” asks Kurt skeptically.  
  
“Well…” Finn confesses. “Maybe not. But after dating Rachel for so long, I’ve gotten pretty good at sitting still and looking interested. That’s kinda the same thing, right?”  
  
“I guess. You’re sure you don’t mind?”  
  
Finn nods. “Yeah. You listen to me talk about, like, girls and stuff a lot. I can totally handle gay problems.”  
  
Kurt laughs. “Okay. Well, then.” He inhales dramatically. “I’m wondering about my prom crusade. More specifically - I’m wondering if I’m taking it far enough.”  
  
“Dude, haven’t we already”-  
  
“Oh, you’ve been great – everyone in glee has been amazing. I’m wondering about _me_ ; if _I’m_ taking it far enough. It’s just… I’m prepared to lose, Finn. Like, I’m _really_ prepared to lose. Blaine and I have this whole back-up plan about how we’ll get a hotel and – and okay, this _is_ the kind of gay thing you don’t want to hear about, so I’ll stop. But I was talking to Santana today and it made me question what I’ve been doing.”  
  
“How so?” asks Finn.  
  
Kurt takes another deep breath. “This whole time, I’ve been trying so hard to do what will be in Blaine’s and my best interest – whatever will let us have a fun, relaxing night. And I made the decision a long time ago that I wouldn’t ruin the prom for my friends. I wouldn’t ask anyone to boycott. I wouldn’t let Rachel drag her dads into this. I wouldn’t even let _my_ dad get dragged into this. But what I haven’t been thinking about is… what about the others? There are definitely closeted gay kids at McKinley, and there will absolutely be more in the future. So should I make more of a scene for their sakes?”  
  
“You mean, like, should you be more annoying about it?”  
  
Kurt laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s exactly what I mean. From what I can gather, rules get changed because _someone_ decides to be annoying. Some fed-up person decides to quit playing nice and start being obnoxious; they decide that they’ll shout to be heard and fight until their demands get met. And everyone hates them - but without those annoying people, I don’t know that anything would ever change.”  
  
Finn scrunches up his face in confusion. “Not to be… whatever… but I’m kinda surprised that you didn’t think about this earlier.”  
  
Kurt considers this. “It’s different for me, Finn. I’m very – I guess _isolated_ is the word? I was the only out gay kid at McKinley for a long time. And then Brittany and Santana came out as bi, but they certainly don’t consider themselves a part of the queer community. I’ve never been part of a support group or a pride group or an alliance or anything. Blaine’s _still_ the only other gay guy I’ve met who’s my age. Well” – Kurt falters. “There was another one but... let’s just say he was the opposite of helpful. And he graduated last year, thankfully.”  
  
“So you’re saying you don’t feel gay?”  
  
“Oh, no. Trust me. I feel _very_ gay. More so than your average gay person, I think, because I’m the only one, and no one will let me forget. I mean, I’m “the gay guy.” That’s who I am, Finn. For a lot of kids at school, it’s the only thing they know about me. I literally am _the_ representation of the gay community. But because it's just me, I don’t always feel like a part of this community I’m representing - but I am a part of it, all the same. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”  
  
Finn shakes his head. “You explained it fine. I get it. And I really don’t have any advice, but, uh – you know I’ll do whatever. I mean, I’m not saying it wouldn’t suck but… I’d boycott the prom. If you asked me to.”  
  
It’s on the tip of Kurt’s tongue to say, “You’d really do that for me?” but he manages to hold it in. He thinks of Finn in a red shower curtain, Finn singing to him at the wedding, Finn watching _Project Runway_ with him and enjoying it despite himself, Finn introducing Kurt to people as, “my brother,” and introducing Blaine just as unblinkingly as, “my brother’s boyfriend.”  
  
“I know you would,” Kurt says steadily. “And I can’t promise I won’t ask you to.”  
  
Finn doesn’t say anything to this, but he manages to not look too upset. “It wouldn’t be your fault, dude. It would be, like, Principal Figgins’ fault.”  
  
Kurt sighs. “I just wish he’d talk to me. But he’s ‘mysteriously’ canceled the last five appointments I’ve made with him, and it’s impossible to get him alone.”  
  
“Why do you have to get him _alone_ to talk to him?”  
  
“Well, I can’t talk to him about this in public, Finn.”  
  
Finn shrugs. “If he won’t make time for you, then why not? Why can’t you?”  
  
“Why can’t”- Kurt frowns. “Well, hey. Yeah. Come to think of it, why _can’t_ I?”  
  
“That’s what I’m saying.”  
  
“Finn Hudson, this is probably going to be the only time I tell you this, so savor it: You’re a _genius._ Now if you'll excuse me, I have go go ask my dad something.”  
  
Kurt jumps up from the kitchen table and rounds the corner, entering the living room, where his dad is sitting on the sofa and watching the news.  
  
“Hey, Dad?” he asks breathlessly.  
  
“What’s up, kiddo?”  
  
“If I were to do something incredibly stupid that involved standing up in front of the entire school and demanding that Principal Figgins give me a straight answer about prom, how would you feel about that?”  
  
His dad considers this. “I’d feel pretty good about it.”  
  
“There’s a possibility I might get suspended or something,” Kurt warns.  
  
His father sits up straight in his chair and looks Kurt in the eye. “Listen, son – as much as I want you to go to your prom, I honestly _hope_ they try and suspend you.”  
  
“You do? Why?”  
  
“Well, as I understand it, there’s an appeals process which is attended by every member of the Lima City School Board. And I gotta tell you, Kurt – I’d have some _real_ interesting remarks to make to them on a wide range of topics: Bullying. Intolerance. The non-discrimination policy. And I’m sure I’ll think of others as I go along. ”  
  
“Well, I’ll be sure to drop a few four-letter words into my speech to make the suspension more likely.”  
  
“Would you? For my sake?”  
  
“I promise.”  
  
“So in front of the school, huh? What are you going to do – shout at him during lunch?”  
  
Kurt grins widely. “Would you believe, Dad, that our esteemed principal will be giving a lecture to the senior class on Monday afternoon… on _prom etiquette?”_  


  
**0000  
  
0000  
  
0000  
**

 

_  
Four days out_

 

  
Kurt’s heart has been pounding wildly from the moment the senior class had started filing into the auditorium. His palms have been sweating since Principal Figgins had launched into his mind-numbingly boring lecture on prom etiquette. The queasiness in his stomach had set in as soon as the police officer stepped onto the stage – and it had been in _no_ way alleviated by the slide show that had followed; image after grisly image of post-prom alcohol-induced car wrecks.  
  
By the time Principal Figgins steps back up to the stage, thanks the police officer, and picks the microphone back up, Kurt is feeling vaguely light-headed. But he knows he’s made the right decision; and he also knows that, whatever happens, he has his dad’s support. It is that thought – along with the image of Blaine’s beautiful, encouraging smile and the knowledge that he’ll be kicking this school to the curb any day now – that propels him to his feet when Principal Figgins asks if any of the students have questions and warily calls on Kurt.  
  
“Principal Figgins,” he says, his voice sounding small and strangely childlike to his own ears, “I’ve spent the past few weeks trying to get a straight answer to this question from somebody in charge.” He pauses, his mouth feeling very dry suddenly and the queasiness increasing tenfold as he feels the eye of every person in the room on him. “And I still don’t have one. I’ve been dating my boyfriend Blaine for over a year, and I would very much like to bring him to my senior prom. Is there… _anything_ … you can do to help me make that happen? And if the answer is no, could you please do me the courtesy of telling me why?”  
  
The look on the administrator’s face is enough to make Kurt want to sit back down, and the sudden explosion of loud whispers around him makes him want to run out of the auditorium and hide in the choir room until graduation.  
  
“Mr. Hummel,” responds Principal Figgins sharply, drawing his eyebrows together and pressing his mouth into a thin line. “I have already spoken about this issue at length with your glee club adviser, Mr. Schuester. As I’ve made clear to him, the implications of changing an entire policy to suit the needs of just one person”-  
  
“It’s not just one person!”  
  
The voice rings out powerfully in the auditorium. The eyes of everyone in the room shift automatically toward the source of the sound, and it is with considerable amazement that they (and Kurt) rest their shocked gazes on –  
  
Finn Hudson.  
  
Kurt blinks, positive that he is somehow dreaming. But when he opens his eyes, Finn is still standing up in the fifth row of the auditorium, and staring directly at Principal Figgins.  
  
“It’s not just one person,” Finn repeats loudly, taking a deep breath. “I want to take my friend Noah Puckerman to the prom.”  
  
A low, shocked buzzing noise follows this statement as the senior class reacts to this staggering development. For his part, Kurt feels like he might stop breathing altogether. _What in the world-_  
  
“Mr. Hudson, sit down _immediately_. This is not the time for jokes or class pranks or”-  
  
“It’s not a joke,” says Finn, his voice ringing with conviction. “I want to take him. As bros,” he clarifies hastily, swiveling slightly and fixing his fellow classmates with a shut-up-or-I’ll-make-you expression. “But I wanna go with him. If, uh…” Finn clears his throat. “If he says yes.” Red-faced, he glances over at Puck, seated two rows in front of him.  
  
Puck practically bounds to his feet. _“Hell, yeah_ , I’ll go,” he declares forcefully. He glares around the room. “What?” he demands. “I’m a total stud. Any dude at this school would be _lucky_ to escort Puckzilla.”  
  
Finn shoots Puck a relieved smile. “So that’s three,” he says to Principal Figgins. “That’s three students right there who want to”-  
  
“No, it’s not!”  
  
Kurt’s heart stops as bold, beautiful Mercedes stands up and steps into the aisle. With a shake of her gorgeous hair and a coolly appraising look at the man standing up at the podium, she crosses her arms over her chest and says, “Principal Figgins, I’d like to take Rachel Berry with me to senior prom.”  
  
A beaming Rachel jumps up from her seat. “Mercedes, I would be _delighted_ to accept your very gracious offer.”  
  
Kurt shakes his head, as if trying to deny the sight of his four friends standing up in the auditorium. _No,_ he thinks. _Guys, this is insane. Don’t-_ oh god- what if this stunt got them _banned_ from the prom altogether? He’d never forgive himself. He’d never –  
  
Quinn’s cool, prim voice emerges from the back of the auditorium. Kurt turns to see her standing with her hands on her hips and her fiercest bitch-face plastered on. _“I’d_ like to take Tina Cohen-Chang to the prom.” Tina, sitting a few seats down from Quinn, gives her a small wave and stands up as well, grinning from ear-to-ear.  
  
Artie, whose wheelchair is in the aisle toward the front of the auditorium, raises his hand and says loudly, “Principal Figgins, I would totally like to escort my best bro, Mike Chang, to the prom. And we’ll both have the chicken, ‘kay?” Mike, smiling, leans over and bumps fists with Artie before standing up to join his fellow glee club members.  
  
Kurt’s vision is starting to blur. _These people. God, these crazy, amazing people…_  
  
“Uh…” Kurt spins around to see a slightly pink-faced Sam Evans standing up, a few seats down from Finn. “I’d, uh, like to bring my friend Josh. From my old school. So that’s…yeah… that’s another two. ” Sam starts to sit back down but then seems to remember that the other glee kids are standing. He shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, but remains upright.  
  
Lauren Zizes stands up then, her voice carrying loudly across the auditorium from her seat next to Puck. “I’d like to take my best girl, Christy Schneider. Christy, babe? You in?” Kurt knows that she’s in AV club with Lauren and Artie – and apparently she is in. She stands up as well.  
  
A whisper of movement from his left catches Kurt’s eye and he turns to see Brittany standing up, smoothing down the pleats of her Cheerios skirt and gazing hopefully at – oh. _Santana._ Santana is, for her part, glaring at the floor with her arms crossed defensively over her chest and looking even more prickly and unapproachable than usual (which is saying something).  
  
It may well be that Kurt is imagining the flicker of defiance he thinks he sees appear in Brittany’s eyes – he can’t see her very well from his vantage point – but there’s no mistaking the sudden, hard set of her jaw or the firm tilt of her chin.  
  
“I want to take Becky Jackson to the prom.”  
  
Yeah – Kurt’s definitely not imagining the widening of Santana’s eyes or the sight of her mouth gaping open as she angles herself in her seat to look back at Brittany as little Becky Jackson clambers out of her seat and says with a sunny smile, “Thanks, Brittany. I would love to go with you!”  
  
Brittany is still looking up at Principal Figgins. “That rule is really mean,” she says loudly. “You shouldn’t be mean to people.” She lets her eyes drop back down to Santana. “It sucks when people are mean to you for no reason.”  
  
A girl named Tara Viehman who had been seated near Santana stands up. Kurt knows her fairly well, and they’ve always gotten along – she’s in a few of his classes and they’d been lab partners in AP Biology for a semester. “I, um…” She fidgets nervously with the hemline of her T-shirt. “I would like to bring my girlfriend. Kelly. She goes to Crawford. And – and yeah. I’d like to bring her.”  
  
And that’s – okay, wow. _Wow._ Before he can even process this information, a loud murmur draws his attention to the opposite side of the auditorium.  
  
Zachary Vincze is standing.  
  
Kurt blinks. _Zachary Vincze._ Unlike Tara, Kurt doesn’t know Zach personally – although Kurt knows who he is, of course, because everyone does. He’s an incredibly popular boy; friendly, handsome, athletic. He’s an excellent student in honors classes and the editor-in-chief of the school’s literary magazine and he’s on the swim team and on the track team and – just no way. _No way.  
_  
“I’m speaking up right now, because I’d like to ask a friend of mine who’s a junior here at McKinley to the prom. And he’s just a friend.” Zach pauses. “At the moment. But if I’m lucky enough to have him accept… then I’m hoping that the prom will be our official first date.” His eyes sweep around the auditorium. “I don’t know if I’d be brave enough to do this if I weren’t graduating in a week. But I’d like to think I’m paving the way for my friend who has another year to go here. So here’s a big old Public Service Announcement for everyone: My name is Zach Vincze. And yeah, I’m bisexual.”  
  
Zach remains standing, and if the talking around him bothers him, he doesn’t let it show. Kurt, for his part, feels like he might faint at any moment. Just as he’s trying to decide if he should take some sort of action – he’d been the one who started this madness after all – t _wo more girls_ stand up.  
  
Amy Dorak and Kristen Bastianelli, to be exact. They are two exceptionally giggly girls from his French class, and they’re best friends as far as he knows. He never in a million years would have thought that they-  
  
“We’re not gay,” says Kristen, “but, like, neither of us have dates to the prom because our love-lives suck”-  
  
“Guys in general suck”- adds Amy.  
  
“So we’d like to go together. I don’t see why we shouldn’t be able to. Who is it hurting?”  
  
A small knot of girls toward the back of the auditorium stand up. Alexandra Seage – one of the brainiest girls in the class – speaks up loudly. “The six of us were all planning to go stag. We did it for homecoming, and we did it for Senior Ball and Banquet. I don’t see any reason at all that we can’t escort each other. We’ll figure out exactly who’s taking who – but that’s another six people for the list. Oh, sorry, seven. Well, we’ll find another girl to make it an even number. So change that to eight.”  
  
_“And,”_ booms a voice – a very familiar voice that makes Kurt’s blood freeze in his veins – “as a self-appointed chaperone for this shindig, I would like to bring as my date the only person in the world more stupendous than one Sue Sylvester. And that is the fabulous and _very_ female Jean Sylvester.”  
  
Kurt looks up in wide-eyed disbelief to see Coach Sylvester stepping up onto the stage, approaching a thoroughly shell-shocked Principal Figgins and draping her arm around him.  
  
“Well, Figgins, here’s the sitch: I’d like to escort my sister to the McKinley prom – and what Sue Sylvester wants, Sue Sylvester gets. So why don’t you get on the phone and make that call to the Superintendent, letting her know in no uncertain terms that a grand total of _twenty-seven_ _students_ want to bring a partner of the same gender to the prom. By my count, that’s more than ten percent of the senior class. And unless you want Jacob ben Israel to mail video footage of this assembly to Fox News and watch them run a segment on what would appear to the public to be the gayest school in Gaysville, Ohio… I’d get on that soon. What do you say, buddy?”  
  
“I - I don’t… I”-  
  
“Relax, buddy. It’s okay. Stirring acts of social justice _always_ leave me speechless - of course, I’m usually speechless with rage, but in this case I’ll make an exception. Oh, and Porcelain,” she says, her eyes zeroing in on Kurt. “You should have come to me right off the bat. Superintendent Tripp was on my college cheerleading squad and I’ve got more dirt on her than you can suck up with an industrial-strength vacuum cleaner.”  
  
“But," stammers Kurt, "but I thought you – weren’t you saying on your talk-show about hating the ‘sneaky gays?’ – I thought”-  
  
_“Sneaky_ gays, Porcelain. You’re a cross between Liberace’s love-child and Liza Minnelli’s most fabulous feather boa. Your level of ‘flaming’ is such that if the electricity in this school were to cease operation, you’d be a _beacon_ in the darkness. I can see you and hear you and smell you from a mile away, and let me tell you – I appreciate that, Porcelain. That hobbit you’re dating? Him I’m not so sure of. Shortness alone fails to convince me of homosexual tendencies and I’d prefer it if you designated him with some sort of appropriate marker on prom night. A rhinestone tiara, perhaps, or a glittery pink bowtie? A pair of high heels wouldn’t go amiss, either, Porcelain, in the sense that you won’t have to crane your head to an impossible angle just to make eye contact with him.”  
  
“Um. That probably won’t be happening,” admits Kurt.  
  
Sue sighs. “Well, in that case, will you save me a dance?”  
  
Kurt blinks. “Uh - I - yes?”  
  
Sue points her finger at him. _“Outstanding.”_  
  
With that, she exits the stage, dragging a stunned-looking Principal Figgins along behind her by his jacket lapel –  
  
-and the crowd, quite literally, _goes wild.  
  
_  
  



	3. Part Two-B

  
The next few minutes pass by in a blurry haze. Kurt finds himself hugged and kissed repeatedly by Quinn and Mercedes and Rachel and Tina and Brittany, and slapped heartily on the back by Puck and Finn and Mike and Sam and – _oww_. Can’t they just hug him like the girls did?  
  
Tara Viehman approaches him with a slow, nervous smile and they exchange a quick, wordless embrace – and about thirty seconds later, he feels a tap on his shoulder.  
  
It’s Zach.  
  
“Uh… hey, dude. Look, I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me,” he says, shoving his hands deeply into his pockets. “But in my defense, I only really knew for sure a few months ago when I met Andrew. I sort of had an idea before that, but I felt weird about going up to you and saying, ‘Hey, uh, I’m not positive but I think I _might_ be bi? So you _might_ not be the only one? Except you’re still sort of the only one, because I really do like girls and guys seem to be more of the exception for me?’ I didn’t know how to go about starting that conversation. But I definitely should have said something; and if it helps, I always tried to get the guys to lay off you. I know that doesn’t count for much; I know I’m a coward. I’m not like you, Kurt.”  
  
Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Well, as much as it sucks to know that the crush I had on you for the entirety of freshman year might not have been as pointless as I thought…” Zach laughs. “…I don’t really know how brave I am, either.”   
  
Zach opens his mouth to contradict him, but Kurt holds up a hand. “I’m not saying I’m not brave. I’m just saying I don’t _know_ how brave I am. It’s like Coach Sylvester said. I’m… obvious. I can’t hide it. I didn’t choose to come out so much as I just _was_ out. If I were like you – athletic and masculine and possessing a voice in a normal register – would I be out? I honestly have no idea and there’s no way to know.”  
  
The blond boy shakes his head, looking impressed. “You’re quite a person, Kurt Hummel. And it kind of sucks to think that if I’d been braver... we might have been friends.”  
  
Kurt’s taken aback by that, so much so that for a second he wants to say something trite, like: “Well, it’s not too late to start!” or “No, look, we’ll totally hang out over the summer!” or “I’ll friend you on Facebook - we’ll catch up sometime!”   
  
But he gets the feeling that Zach doesn’t like to be patronized and if he’s being honest, Kurt feels the same way. Just one more thing they apparently have in common.  
  
Kurt shrugs. “We might have been.”

  
  
  
 **0000**  
  
0000  
  
0000

 ****  
  
  
Kurt nearly drops his phone in his rush to answer it.  
  
“Blaine?” he says excitedly.  
  
“Hey, babe,” answers his boyfriend warmly. “So have you been suspended? Expelled? Come on, come on, don’t keep me in suspense – I can’t wait to tell all the guys I’m dating a total rule-breaking bad-ass.”  
  
“Not suspended _or_ expelled.”  
  
“Arrested, then? Ooh, I l _ike_ it! You look adorable in orange”-  
  
“Blaaaaine,” he groans.  
  
“No, seriously. I’ll start clearing my schedule for my conjugal visits.”  
  
“Well, you’ll have to wait until after prom to arrange the first one. I only have four days to coordinate my look after all.”  
  
“Four days to”- Blaine gasps. “Oh my god. You did it? I can’t believe it - Kurt, that’s amazing!”  
  
“Well, I don’t really know if _I_ did it. But it’s done.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Kurt shakes his head wonderingly. “I don’t really even know, to be honest with you.”  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
“It means... do you have at least fifteen minutes? Trust me. _This_ is a story you’ll want to hear from the beginning.”

  
  
  
 **0000**  
  
0000  
  
0000

 ****  
  
  
Finn has apparently already told his dad the good news, because the second Kurt steps into the house he finds himself unexpectedly swept up into a big bear hug.  
  
“Congratulations, kiddo! I knew you could do it!”  
  
Kurt hugs his dad back tightly. “It wasn’t just me. Did Finn tell you what he did?”  
  
“He did, but I think he was trying to downplay his role.”  
  
“Don’t let him. He was _amazing,_ Dad.”  
  
“So were you, Kurt. You made this whole thing happen, you know. It took a lot of drive and a lot of maturity and I’m, uh – well, I’m real proud of you, kiddo.”  
  
Kurt closes his eyes as his father releases him. Normally he’d be basking in the warmth of his dad’s words, but _unfortunately_ he has to use this praise as a conversation segue.  
  
“It’s funny you should mention how mature I am,” he says, smiling hopefully at his dad.  
  
“Oh god. What is it? What did you do?”  
  
“I didn’t do anything,” Kurt hastens to reassure him. “It’s – it’s more of what I’m hoping to do.”  
  
His dad folds his arms across his chest. “Go on.”  
  
Kurt winces slightly. “Blaine and I had talked about _maybe_ getting a hotel room after prom...”  
  
His dad’s face is unreadable. “Uh-huh. I see.”  
  
After a few seconds of an extremely uncomfortable silence, Kurt fidgets a little and says, “So... is that okay?”  
  
His dad grimaces. “At this point, couldn’t you have just lied to me about it?”   
  
Kurt’s jaw drops. “What? How could I possibly have done that? If I’d said I wanted to stay over at Mercedes, you would have known I was lying!”  
  
“Exactly,” says his dad defensively. “You would have lied, and I would have known you were lying, and you would have known that I _knew_ you were lying. But you’d know that I knew where you really were. It would have been great.”  
  
“I honestly didn’t understand half of what you said, but I don’t think I heard an answer in there.”  
  
His father sighs heavily. “The answer is… that you’re eighteen. And you’ll be a high school graduate by this time next week. And you’re in a long-term relationship with a young man I like, who I know respects and cares for you very much. And under those circumstances I’m not going to tell you ‘no.’ But it’s just - it’s really hard to make myself physically say the word ‘yes.’"  
  
Kurt rolls his eyes fondly at his dad. “Fine. Let’s try this again. Should you have need of me, please be aware that _Mercedes_ and I will be renting a room at the Wingate on West Market Street on prom night.”  
  
“Gee, thanks,” mutters his dad.  
  
“You’re very welcome,” Kurt replies sweetly. He turns to head upstairs, but he’s stopped by the sound of his dad’s voice drifting out to him:  
  
“Hey, Kurt?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Can you… come back here?”  
  
His dad has situated himself on the sofa, and he pats the seat next to him. Kurt sits down in it and looks expectantly at his father. “What is it?”   
  
“I’m sorry. Look, I think I handled that all wrong. It's just - you’re just growing up so fast that it’s hard for me to catch up. _Of course_ I want you to be honest with me. I want you to feel like you can talk to me about anything. I know we had that talk last year, but do you… _need_ anything? Condoms? Or…”  
  
Kurt shrugs. "Mercedes usually takes care of the supplies."

His dad throws him a dark look. “I’m trying here, okay? Cut me some slack. Okay, so you’re… prepared?”

Kurt doesn’t meet his dad’s eyes but gives him a terse nod.  
  
“And I know it might be presuming a lot to think you haven’t, you know… done whatever you might do on Friday…already. But just to check - you’re not feeling pressured or anything, are you?”  
  
“No,” says Kurt tightly.  
  
“And… you’re ready?"  
  
An image flashes in Kurt’s mind then, unbidden and unwelcome -  himself on a bed, hovering over Blaine, pressing _into_ Blaine; his boyfriend’s face contorted in agony and his hands shoving against Kurt’s shoulders: _Ow – Kurt – it hurts so much – please - stop-_  
  
Kurt shudders. That’s just his imagination, right? Gay men have sex; they have quite a _lot_ of sex if the websites are to be trusted. Just because he’d prefer to be the one underneath doesn’t mean he’s going to hurt Blaine. He trusts that Blaine wouldn’t hurt _him_ \- so why can’t he seem to trust himself? It takes him a few seconds to remember that his dad is still waiting for a response.  
  
"Kurt?"  
  
“Oh. Sorry,” he says, with a startled shake of his head and a smile that is meant to convince both his father and himself. “Y-yeah, Dad. No worries..."  
  
"...I’m ready.”  
  
  
  
  



	4. Part Three-A

   
 

 

_Four hours out  
_

 

Burt isn’t at all surprised to see Finn lounging on the couch in sweatpants and a t-shirt, lazily flipping through channels on the TV – it had taken Burt all of twenty minutes to get dressed and ready for his own high school prom and Finn seems to share a similar philosophy.  
 

“Hey,” he says to Finn. “You excited about the big night?”  
 

Finn glances up at him without moving. “Yeah,” he says. “It should be cool.”  
 

It’s taken a long time for the two of them to get to this point – for the first few months that they’d lived together Finn had straightened up in his seat every time Burt had walked into the room. Carole had informed him early on that Finn was a creature of habit, and that he’d adjust in his own time. He’d been relieved when Finn had finally shown signs of relaxing and settling in. Burt had always tried to make their house a safe and comfortable place - a refuge for Kurt, who had badly needed one. It had been understandably harder to meet that goal with Finn.  
 

Things will be a lot different for them next year, too, with Kurt headed to Philadelphia and Finn staying at home and going to community college – and helping him out in the shop. Burt can’t help but hope that Finn will let him in a little. It’s strange – you’d think he’d be able to understand the kid a lot better, seeing as they’re so outwardly alike, but that hasn’t turned out to be the case.  
 

Burt can read his own son like a book. He’s not exactly sure why; maybe it’s because Kurt had worked so hard at concealing his emotions that Burt had felt the need to learn to decipher them. And while Finn is both more straightforward and just generally less _complicated_ than his stepbrother, Burt still has no clue as to what Finn’s thinking half the time.  You might be inclined to think there isn’t much going on in the kid’s head to begin with – but then, Burt’s pretty sure that people look at _him_ sometimes and think the same thing.   
 

“They still up there?” Burt asks Finn, jerking his head meaningfully toward Kurt’s bedroom. He knows that they are, but he feels awkward just standing here without saying anything.  
 

Finn nods. “Yeah. I stuck my head in like half an hour ago. Kurt said something about ‘coordinating their emergency supplies.’ He said they were – what was it – preparing for all possible… _contingencies?_ Is that a real word?”  
 

Burt’s jaw drops. “I checked on ‘em fifteen minutes ago and Mercedes said the same thing. Geez, how much stuff can they possibly need for _one_ evening?”

 

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

 

 

_Three hours and forty-five minutes out_

 

“Travel-sized toothbrush and toothpaste,” says Kurt, feverishly throwing the aforementioned items on the bed. “Dental floss. Breath mints.”  
 

“Breath spray,” says Mercedes, adding it to the pile.  
 

“Tylenol,” says Kurt, continuing to toss the items as he lists them. “Antacids. Kleenex. Liquid band-aid.”  
 

“Midol,” says Mercedes grumpily. “And tampons.”  
 

Kurt winces. “Seriously? Tonight? You poor thing.”  
 

She waves a hand. “I’m too annoyed to even bitch about it. Just keep going.”  
 

“Emery board,” he says. “Clear nail polish. Safety pins.”  
 

“Deodorant,” says Mercedes. She aims a little wildly and nearly hits Kurt with it. He glares at her with mock severity and sets it on the pile.   
 

“Hairbrush,” says Kurt. “Hairspray.”  
 

“Bobby pins. Clear elastics. Double-sided hem tape.”  
 

“A sewing kit with the cutest little scissors I’ve ever seen in my _life.”_  
 

“Nail polish remover.”  
 

“Stain remover.”  
 

“Static remover.”  
 

“Wrinkle remover.”  
 

“Lint remover.”  
 

“Compact mirror.”  
 

“Tinted moisturizer.”   
 

Kurt picks up the moisturizer that Mercedes had tossed on top of the pile. “I cannot even begin to comprehend the unfairness,” he says as he looks over the label. “Your moisturizer shade is called _Ebony Goddess_. Mine is called _Bisque_. Honestly, how does that even sound remotely appealing?”  
 

Mercedes shrugs. “It doesn’t.”  
 

“Anyway,” he says, throwing the moisturizer back. “Shoe shine towelettes. Extra buttons. Extra boutonniere pins.”   
 

“My make-up bag,” says Mercedes, carefully setting it on top.   
 

“Our cell phones and wallets, of course,” says Kurt, placing them among the items strewn across his comforter. “And…” he looks around. “Is that everything?”  
 

“I think so. Remind me again how we’re transporting all of this?”  
 

“I bought a very spacious messenger bag for the occasion. It matches my ensemble beautifully.”  
 

“Hmm,” says Mercedes, shaking her head at the sizeable pile of objects on the bed. “It had better be very spacious. Seriously, what is wrong with us? I feel like most girls just pack lipstick and condoms.”  
 

_“Ohmygosh_ ,” says Kurt, clapping a hand to his forehead. “Thank you. I almost forgot and that would have been _bad.”  
_

Mercedes gapes at him. “Kurt – baby – you know I love you, but _lipstick?_ Really?”  
 

Kurt feels his face redden. “No. The… _other_ thing,” he whispers.  
 

“Condoms?” she yelps.  
 

Kurt throws her an exasperated look. “That’s _great,_ Mercedes,” he hisses. “Next time, why don’t you say it a little _louder?"_  
 

“Sorry,” she whispers, looking sheepish. “I just didn’t realize you guys had done… _it.”  
_

Kurt glances carefully toward the door before continuing. “We haven’t yet,” he says softly. “Tonight’s the night.”  
 

Mercedes claps a hand to her mouth, which fortunately stifles her excited squeal. “That is such a huge deal!”  
 

“I know,” he says, breathing out somewhat shakily. “I know it is.”

“So you actually went and bought condoms?” she whispers. “What was that like?”  
 

Kurt eases himself off his bed and crosses the room. He opens the bottom drawer of his dresser, rummages in the back, and digs out a small plastic CVS bag. “One of the more awkward moments of a lifetime,” he says, tossing the bag at her. “I was blushing the entire time and I just kind of grabbed the first box I saw and threw it in my shopping basket – and then I freaked out and bought, like, four trashy magazines to cover them.”  
 

“Not that I’m, like, an expert on gay sex – but don’t you also need…?”  
 

“Y-yeah,” says Kurt. “We’ve already, uh, found uses for that. We have some at Blaine’s house and he’s supposed to bring it. I kind of want to text him and remind him – but just, like, how do you _word_ that without it sounding skeevy?”  
 

“He’s a teenage boy, honey, and he’s about to _get some_. He’s not gonna forget.”  
 

“ _I’m_ a teenage boy,” sulks Kurt. “I just _happen_ to have more in common with teenage girls.”  
 

“Like our shared interest in teenage boys.”  
 

Kurt nods. “For example. Yes.”  
 

They sit in companionable silence for a few seconds.  
 

“Hey, Kurt?” says Mercedes hesitantly. “Can I ask you something? It’s kind of… personal.”  
 

Kurt side-eyes the CVS bag. “How much more ‘personal’ can we get?”  
 

_“Very.”_  
 

“All right. Try me.”  
 

She glances over at him, looking uncertain. “Kurt, do you ever… wish you were a girl?”  
 

Kurt blinks up at Mercedes in surprise. “Wow,” he breathes out slowly. “Uh… okay. Wasn’t expecting that, but okay - fair question. Um...” He pauses. “The short answer is no. And the long answer is… it’s - it’s less that I want to _be_ a girl, and more that I sometimes think my life would be _easier_ if I was. But easier isn’t always better.”  
 

 Mercedes fidgets a little. “I got you. Sorry if that came out of nowhere.”  
 

He gives her a wry smile. “I mean, I was surprised that you asked me, but… do you really think this is the first time I’ve thought about that? I spent every day getting called _girl_ and _lady._ Other kids would say it, and sometimes their parents would, and sometimes even teachers would.  After a few years, it was like…well, if _everyone_ is seeing something that I’m not seeing, maybe I’m the one who’s not getting it. So yeah, I’ve wondered.”  
 

She nods sympathetically, absently toying with the CVS bag. “I wish people wouldn’t call you those words.”  
 

Kurt shrugs. “I do, too, but it’s not like they’re insults. You know I love the ladies. I pretty much exclusively worship female artists and icons.” He puts a hand on top of hers. “Not to mention the fact that my best friend is a girl and let me tell you – she is _quite_ the human being.”  
 

Mercedes squeezes his hand then, and Kurt lies down and curls around her on the bed, resting his head on her knee as she plays lightly with his hair.   
 

“I never told you this,” he says haltingly, “but I redecorated my bedroom at my old house once. For Finn and I. When our parents first moved in. It didn’t go well a _t all_ and I get that it was an incredibly stupid idea in hindsight, but… I really _liked_ the way I decorated it. It was a blend of the masculine and the feminine - which kind of represents me perfectly. But Finn looked in and thought the same thing that ninety-nine percent of people would think: ‘It looks like a girl’s room.’ _I_ could see that there was that blend, but Finn just saw that there was a feminine aspect to it and didn’t bother to look at the rest. Maybe people do the same thing when they look at me.”  
 

“So Finn didn’t like it, huh?”

Kurt closes his eyes. “No, he really didn’t. It wasn’t just the room he was mad about. There were a lot of other things piled on top of it, some of which _were_ my fault  – but it hurt, anyway. I put a lot of thought into it and he barged in and said that everything was too f”- Kurt cuts the sentence off abruptly and opens his eyes, staring up at the swirls of paint on his ceiling. “…feminine.”  
 

“Yeah, well, Finn can be”- Mercedes peers into the CVS bag. “Oh. Wow. Um, Kurt?”  
 

“Uh-huh?”  
 

“You know how you said you grabbed the first box you saw?”  
 

Kurt frowns. “Yeah, wh– oh god, _please_ tell me I didn’t get those freaky lamb skin ones.”  
 

She shakes her head. “No. But…” She picks up the box and tosses it into his lap. Kurt stares down at the purple box with the label that reads: _Trojan – Her Pleasure. Designed with the woman in mind!_

Kurt groans and tosses the box to the floor in frustration. “ _Lovely,”_ he says through gritted teeth.  
 

“Relax. They’ll still work fine,” points out Mercedes.  
 

“I _know_ , but it’s not exactly an auspicious start to my maiden voyage. Or maiden... departure. Or - whatever.”  
 

Mercedes starts speaking, but before she can finish her sentence, Finn pushes the door open. “Hey,” he says. “Your dad wants us down for pictures at 7:15. Everyone’s supposed to get here around then, so…”  
 

“We’ll be there,” says Kurt. “But you cannot keep interrupting our pre-prom preparations, Finn.” He turns to Mercedes. “As you can see, we’re still working on the whole knocking-before-entering thing.”  
 

Finn scowls. “Quit talking about me like I’m not - wait – dude, what’s _that?”_ And Finn takes two steps forward onto the carpet and picks up – oh. _Those._ Whoops. He reads the label and Kurt can see him mouthing the words _Her Pleasure_ with a very confused look on his face.   
 

“Uh – Finn, that’s…”  
 

“Those are just”-  
 

Finn glances up at the two of them. “Yeah, I know what they are. And seeing as _you’re_ going to the prom with a dude, and _you’re_ going to the prom with _my girlfriend,_  I’m just gonna…” He puts the box on Kurt’s dresser. “…set these here and, uh -  yeah. I’ll see you guys downstairs later.” He closes the door carefully behind him.  
 

Kurt turns to look at his friend. “And _these_ are supposed to be the best years of our lives?” he asks Mercedes skeptically.  
 

She sighs. “Man, I hope everyone’s wrong about that.”  
 

 

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

 

_One hour and ten minutes out_

 

“ _Going my way, stranger?”_ says Kurt in the flirtiest voice he can manage.  
 

Mercedes claps. “Drop-dead sexy, baby. Blaine will love it.”  
 

“Oh, he had _better._ I spent all week trying to think of the perfect line to say when he sees me – once he picks his jaw up off the floor, of course.”  
 

“Well, of course,” agrees Mercedes.  
 

“Oh my god,” sighs Kurt delightedly, lightly patting his perfectly coiffed bangs. “We look so gorgeous.”  
 

“Damn straight. We’re two hot divas.”   
 

He turns to look at Meredes – who really does look stunning. She’s wearing a shimmery, gold-sequined floor-length gown that has a slit going up to her knee on the left side. It’s a halter dress, with tiny, decorative jewels along the straps and it has a deep, sultry v-neck. Her hair is swept up into a classic French twist, with a few loose curls framing her face. She and Kurt had bedazzled her white heels with gold rhinestones earlier in the week.  
 

Kurt has on a midnight-blue tuxedo with a silvery-blue vest, and these amazing Kenneth Cole shoes that he’d found for a steal on Ebay. His skin is looking flawless, his hair is actually _cooperating_ for once, and –  
 

_Knock, knock._

Kurt tenses. “Who is it?”  
 

“It’s me,” says his dad’s voice. “I think almost everyone’s here - and Finn said Blaine’s car just pulled up.”  
 

Mercedes clutches at Kurt’s hands tightly. “Ohmigod ohmigod – this is _it,”_ she squeals.   
 

“I know!” says Kurt, who feels like he’s starting to hyperventilate.  “We’ll be right down!”   
 

His dad heads back downstairs and Kurt fans himself quickly. “Okay. One last check of our best features.”  
 

Mercedes puts her hands on her hips. “Boobs?”  
 

Kurt inspects them carefully. “Marvelous.” He turns around. “Ass?”  
 

“Perfect,” she says.   
 

“Hair?” they say at the same time.  
 

“Do we even need to say it?” he asks.  
 

“I think we should say it,” opines Mercedes, drawing a smile from Kurt.  
 

_“Faaabulous,_ ” they drawl in unison.  
 

“Okay,” says Kurt. “I just need to grab Blaine’s boutonniere.” He reaches for the box containing the deep-red Calla Lily he’d selected for his boyfriend. “I can’t wait to see what he got me. It isn’t easy to find flowers that coordinate with my color palette.”  
 

She grabs his arm. “Are you ready for your big entrance?”  
 

“Going my way, stranger?” practices Kurt. “How did that sound?”  
 

“Awesome,” says Mercedes.  
 

“Blaine Anderson,” says Kurt, shaking his head. “Buckle your seatbelt. Kurt Elizabeth Hummel is coming _straight_ at you.”

 

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

 

_One hour out_

 

It’s one thing for Kurt to know, on an intellectual level, that the New Directions are going to the prom in same-sex pairings. It’s quite another thing to stand at the top of his staircase and see – well – _this._

Quinn and Tina are rapturously gushing over the corsages the other had bought for them. Brittany and Becky appear to be engaged in some sort of cheerleader hand-clapping chant. (“P-R-O-M, _gooooo PROM!!”_ ) Rachel is beaming and waving up at Kurt and Mercedes. Artie is showing a video clip on his phone to Mike, and they’re both laughing hysterically at whatever it is.  
 

Puck is staring in horror at Finn, who is sticking his tongue out in concentration as he attempts to pin on Puck’s boutonniere, the needle flashing dangerously in the lamplight. “I think I almost have it,” says Finn. “Wait – oops!”  
 

“Dude, _give_ me that,” says an exasperated Puck, snatching the boutonniere out of his hand. “I’ll get mine on and _then_ I’ll put yours on. Just – like – stand still and don’t touch anything for the next thirty seconds. Okay?”  
 

“Okay,” says Finn meekly.  
 

His dad is down by the door talking to (Kurt’s heart starts pounding rapidly) Blaine, who is facing away from him and hasn’t turned around yet.  
 

Kurt steps down the stairs as quietly as he can, with Mercedes right next to him. He waits until he’s right behind Blaine, striking a dramatic pose with his hip artfully jutted out and tapping his boyfriend gently on the shoulder, preparing to say the line that will knock Blaine off his-  
 

_Oh. My. God._

The second Blaine turns around, every thought in Kurt’s head goes flying out the living room window. He stands there, awestruck, taking in the sight of this _gorgeous_ creature in a classically elegant tuxedo, with perfect posture and a sinful smile and gorgeous, un-gelled curls that are just-this-side-of-tamed and this tanned skin that’s just  – this _is_ his boyfriend, right? Kurt hasn’t been dreaming for the past fourteen months, has he?   
 

Panicked, he glances over to Mercedes, who nods furiously at him. _Yes, that’s your boyfriend. Say something to him._

“Kurt?” says Blaine breathlessly. “Wow. You look…” He rakes his eyes up and down Kurt’s body. _“…amazing.”_  
 

Kurt opens his mouth to say something and the only sound that comes out is a small, strangled squeak.   
 

Mercedes –good friend that she is – rushes to his side. “Kurt, baby,” she whispers in his ear. “You’re supposed to say something back to him.”  
 

He shakes his head at her.  
 

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s just work on breathing, then. I don’t think you’re breathing enough.”  
 

Kurt takes a deep breath.  
 

“Good,” she whispers. “Do you want to give him his boutonniere now?”  
 

He hands the box over to her, nodding mutely.  
 

Mercedes smiles at Blaine. “Hi, hon. This is for you, from Kurt.”  
 

Blaine takes the box. “God, it’s _beautiful._ Thank you so much, Merce-  I mean, Kurt.” He gives Kurt a puzzled look. “Are you okay, babe?” He looks down at himself uncertainly. “Do I not look”-  
 

And Kurt acts swiftly, then, managing to shake himself out of his stupor – grabbing Blaine by the waist, tugging him forward, and kissing him _deeply_ in full view of everyone in the room – because _that’s_ a sentence that needs to be stopped in its tracks, and in his frazzled emotional state, this is the absolute best way he can think of to do it.  
 

Fortunately, Blaine doesn’t seem to be judging him for this decision. In fact, Kurt’s pretty sure Blaine doesn’t mind at all.  
 

 

 

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

 

_Forty minutes out_

 

“So,” says Blaine, after the final flash of cameras has faded, “Amid all the excitement, I realize I never gave you _your_ boutonniere. I’m… a little nervous about it actually.”  
 

Kurt squeezes his hand. “Don’t be. I’m sure I’ll love it,” he reassures Blaine, vowing inwardly to smile even if it’s completely hideous.  
 

Blaine reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a thin, rectangular _jewelry box._ Kurt arches a quizzical eyebrow at his boyfriend.  
 

“Thank you so much for making this night happen, Kurt,” Blaine says softly, holding the box out in front of Kurt and flipping open the lid.   
 

Kurt freezes. _Oh my-_

Resting on the bottom of the box is a boutonniere made entirely out of _crystals_ \- glimmering iridescent beads that have been strung through with thin wire and carefully woven into several tiny, delicate flowers.  
 

“I thought it was distinctive,” says Blaine, staring intently at Kurt’s face. “Like you. And I thought, this way, you’d be able to keep it as a reminder. It won’t ever dry up or wilt.”  He laughs nervously. “Or, well, unless the craftsmanship is much shoddier than was promised, in which case I’ll be very annoyed and will probably demand back all the money I gave them. Not that I spent an enormous fortune on it.” Blaine’s eyes widen as he backtracks. “Which is n-not to imply that it was cheap. It definitely _wasn’t_. I mean – that’s not what I mean. It was… appropriately priced – oh my _god.”_ Blaine closes his eyes in frustration. “Kurt, could you _please_ say something before I”-  
 

And because Blaine’s eyes are still closed, he is taken completely by surprise as Kurt swoops in to kiss him firmly on the mouth, blessedly cutting off the rest of his sentence. Kurt keeps the kiss short and chaste, but just before he draws back, he gently swipes his tongue along Blaine’s bottom lip, drawing a soft, surprised whimper from his boyfriend.  
 

Blaine’s eyelashes flutter open. “That’s the second time you’ve done that tonight,” he says, sounding slightly dazed.  
 

Kurt’s lips quirk upward slightly. “Complaints?”  
 

Blaine shakes his head. “No. None whatsoever.”  
 

 

 

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

 

_Thirty-five minutes out_

 

“So you have everything you need?” asks Burt. “You’re sure?”  
 

“Yes, dad,” sighs Kurt impatiently. “We have our wallets and our cell phones and our car keys. We have enough beauty supplies to start a salon, enough medical supplies to conduct a first aid class, and enough general supplies to establish a wilderness homestead.”  
 

“I’m just making sure,” says Burt gruffly.  
 

“Dad, I’m not a kid,” Kurt informs him. “I know how to pack. You can stop babying me any time now.”  
 

Burt holds his hands up defensively. “All right, all right. If you’re sure.”  
 

“Yes, dad. _I’m sure._ ” He presses a quick kiss to his dad’s forehead. “Love you. See you tomorrow.”  
 

“Have a great time, Kurt. You’ve earned it. Really.”  
 

Kurt throws him one last smile before heading over to Blaine, who is standing in the doorway. The other kids have piled into their respective cars already; Kurt and Blaine are driving separately, due to their after-prom plans that Burt has tried to avoid thinking about.  
 

Just as Kurt steps through the door, Burt has a sudden thought. “Did you remember to bring-?"  
 

“Oh my _god._ Dad, I’m _fine_ ,” says Kurt with a dramatic groan. “I have everything I need. Okay?”  
 

Burt shrugs. “Okay. Love you, kiddo.”  
 

“Love you, too.”

 

  
 

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

 

 

_Twenty-seven minutes out_

 

An extremely flustered Kurt throws open the door of the house and glares at his dad who is sitting on the couch, reading the sports section of the newspaper.  
 

Kurt marches over to him, his arms folded across his chest.  
 

Without saying a word and without looking up from his article, Burt reaches into his pants pocket and holds out two prom tickets.   
 

With a haughty sniff, Kurt snatches the tickets out of his hand and stomps back over to the front door, slamming it shut behind him.

 

 

  
 

 


	5. Part Three-B

 

_Four minutes in_

  
  
Kurt gasps in wonder at the transformed cafeteria of William McKinley High School. It’s not even recognizable as the place where he waits in the lunch line for wilty salads and overcooked carrots (on the days when he forgets to pack his lunch, anyway).  
  
It looks _breathtaking._  
  
The prom committee has outdone itself – glittering lights are suspended from the ceiling, hanging over the circular tables, which are elegantly draped in white linen tablecloths . Floating candle centerpieces adorn each table and red rose petals have been artistically strewn around each place setting.  
  
The walls of the room are covered by beautifully painted canvas flats, all of which depict a quaint city landscape that looks familiar to Kurt, although he can’t place quite place it. Somewhere in Europe, maybe?  
  
“It’s the French Quarter of New Orleans,” says Rachel proudly. “My dads helped with a lot of the artwork. Isn’t it amazing?”  
  
Kurt nods, impressed. “Yes. It very much is. Your dads are awesome."  
  
“Of course they are,” sniffs Rachel. “They raised me, didn’t they?”

 

  
  
**0000  
  
0000  
  
0000  
**

_  
Seventeen minutes in  
_

  
If he’s being completely honest, Blaine’s feeling a little wistful at the moment – and maybe even a little out of place. For the first time, he finds himself wishing that Dalton had hosted a prom. It would be nice to gather with his friends and laugh and reminisce and make some new memories before they all go their separate ways.  
  
Watching Kurt interact with his friends is strange in a way that he hadn’t expected it to be. It’s… kind of _new_ , for one thing. One of the downsides of Kurt transferring back to McKinley was that their date-time had been severely limited. And because of this, they hadn’t spent much time going out on double-dates or going out in groups the way other couples might have; the urge to wrap themselves up in one another – to shut out the rest of the world and just be _alone_ – had been too strong.  
  
But looking at Kurt now, Blaine can understand exactly why it is that Kurt had transferred back. His head is tipped back, his shoulders shaking with laughter, his eyes alight with mirth –and the same goes for the rest of the table, with the exception of himself.  
  
“-when we stole that videotape from her office”-  
  
“Or – oh – do you remember that time Jacob got that videotape of”-  
  
“-in front of the whole school”-  
  
“-oh god, don’t remind me”-  
  
Blaine is completely lost, unable to follow a single thread of the conversation. These are all stories that are personal to _Kurt,_ and it’s a little unnerving to see the evidence of just how much of his boyfriend’s life he’s missed out on. It’s different for him, because Kurt _did_ go to Dalton. True, he’d only gone there briefly - and Blaine had spent the majority of those months being an absolute idiot ( _God_ , what he wouldn’t give to do those months over again; to spend every single second of them loving Kurt while they’d actually been a part of each other’s everyday lives).   
  
But Kurt had gone there, all the same. He understands the way Dalton operates; he knows the teachers and the students and the buildings – it had been easy for Blaine to talk about his life at school because Kurt had a very strong reference point. Kurt hadn’t talked nearly as much about McKinley, and Blaine finds himself wishing he’d pressed Kurt for more details about his life here.  
  
At the moment, it sounds like it’s all inside jokes and shared memories – and even the bullying they’ve all experienced seems somehow swathed in flattering candlelight, like everything else around them tonight. The tales sound heroic in a Harry Potter sort of way: _We fought these evil villains together and we came out stronger for it.  
_  
“And remember,” gasps Mercedes, laughing, “that Ke$ha song we did in front of the whole school? When Brittany and Santana – oh my god, I can’t say it at the dinner table. But just – oh my god. _So_ embarrassing.”  
  
Kurt smiles tightly. “Guess I must have missed that one.” He glances up at Blaine. “I was seeing how the other half lived.”  
  
Blaine blinks. Oh. He’d been at _Dalton,_ then.   
  
“Oh, whoops. My bad. Well, just be glad you weren’t there for that,” says Mercedes. “It was… gross. Really, really gross. And we thought for sure we’d be suspended. But you just never know with Figgins. Sometimes he’s an ass and then sometimes he’s kind of sweet – if oblivious. You just never know personality you’ll end up with. Roll of a dice.”  
  
Kurt drops a wink at Blaine. “Or the flip of a coin.”  
  
Blaine looks down at his plate, blushing furiously. No one else reacts to that – not even Mercedes – and Blaine can’t help but be glad. It’s nice to know that _he’s_ got some inside jokes with Kurt, too.

  
  
**0000  
  
0000  
  
0000  
**   
  


_Forty-two minutes in  
_

  
“Oh, wow,” breathes out Kurt, awestruck _again_ by the sight before him, as he heads down C Hallway, hand-in-hand with Blaine.  
  
The prom committee and the parents had really gone all out with the New Orleans theme, and Kurt is extremely impressed – and so are the other New Directions members, if the exclamations of delight he hears are any indication.  
  
The two main hallways of the school, as well as the main entranceway, have all been decorated. One of the hallways even looks like Bourbon Street – it has little bars set up where the students can order virgin drinks, and there is even a little _tattoo parlor_ set up where you can get a fake tattoo. Light strains of jazz music waft through the hallways, although Kurt can still hear the pounding bass of the ‘real’ music emanating from the gymnasium. There are little ‘make your own Mardi Gras mask’ booths and underclassmen helpers are running around and distributing colorful Mardi Gras beads to the students. That’s maybe a _little_ tacky, but really - that’s part of the charm of a prom, isn’t it?  
  
The entranceway, meanwhile, has been designed to look like a graveyard, complete with tombstones and a fog machine. There is a “Make your own voodoo doll” booth and there are even a few chaperones milling around dressed as vampires – a nod to Anne Rice, Kurt supposes.  
  
When they finally make their way into the gymnasium, Kurt takes a second to just sort of… take everything in. The room looks fun and bright and wild, with colorful feathered masks adorning the wall and neon-colored lights flashing frenetically in time with the music. Students are dancing both in pairs and in clusters.  
  
Kurt jerks his head toward the dance floor and holds his arm out for Blaine to take. “Shall we?”  
  
Blaine breaks into a delighted smile – and god, he is still so _beautifu_ _l_ that it almost hurts to look at him.  
  
“I’d love to.”  
  
Just as he’s leading his boyfriend onto the dance floor, the fast-paced music fades out and segues into _You and Me_ by Lifehouse. Kurt has always found this song a little sappy, but that’s a distant and unimportant thought compared to the dawning realization that he – Kurt Hummel – is about to _slow dance with his boyfriend._ At his _prom.  
_  
Blaine reaches up and clasps his hands together behind Kurt’s neck, drawing him in so closely that their faces are nearly touching. Kurt puts his hands low on Blaine’s back and tilts his forehead down, locking their eyes together as they begin to sway lightly to the music.   
  
The feeling of this is… indescribable. Just – the look in Blaine’s eyes, and the thrilling sensation of holding him closely in a room full of people, and the swirl of the colored lights, and the cheesy decorations and – _shit_ – is he going to start crying? Oh, god. He’s totally going to start crying.   
  
Kurt feels Blaine tense suddenly and he sees him look at something, wide-eyed, over Kurt’s shoulder. He reflexively tightens his grip on Blaine’s waist. “What is it?” he asks nervously.  
  
Blaine shakes his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Look,” he says softly. And he pivots them around gracefully, so that Kurt can see what Blaine had just seen.  
  
Zach is directly in his line of vision, about three couples down. He’s dancing with a shorter, red-haired boy who is talking animatedly to him and the look on both boys’ faces is nothing short of _smitten._  
  
“I’m guessing one of those boys is – what was it? Zach?”  
  
Kurt nods. “The taller one.”  
  
Blaine tilts his head upward suddenly, placing a gentle kiss on Kurt’s cheek and leaning up to whisper in his ear, “You made this happen for them, you know.”  
  
And damn it, now he’s _definitely_ crying. “It wasn’t just me. It was my friends,” he chokes out. “They stood up for me.”  
  
Blaine nods solemnly. “Yeah, they did. Now tell me, Kurt, because I’ve been wondering this for the past few days: Does it seem likely to you that teenagers – who are notoriously selfish creatures – would stand up and put their asses on the line for a person who is anything short of _incredible?”  
_  
Kurt stops dancing; stands there, pinned in place by the weight of his boyfriend’s earnest gaze. “I don’t know,” he whispers finally.  
  
Blaine reaches a hand up, cups Kurt’s face, strokes his thumb along Kurt’s jawline.   
_  
“I_ do,” he says firmly.  
  
  
 **0000  
  
0000  
  
0000  
  
**

_One hour and fifteen minutes in  
_

 

  
Puck taps Kurt on the shoulder while he and Blaine are dancing to _Fire Burning.  
_  
“What is it?” Kurt asks him loudly, trying to be heard over the music.  
  
“Finn and I are headed up to get our prom photos taken. You guys wanna come?”  
  
“I think we’ll wait – oh, hold on – you guys are getting your photos taken _together?”_  
  
Puck shrugs. “Dude, _yeah._ He’s my date.”  
  
“But it’s your senior prom. Don’t you want to get them taken with Lauren?”  
  
Puck waves a dismissive hand. “Nah, we’re cool.” He whips his cell phone out of his pocket and starts scrolling down whatever web page he’s on. “I just checked Facebook and me and Lauren have already been tagged in… 62 photos. No, wait, 63. Oh, hold up – Phil Webb just added two more.” Puck looks up and waves at someone. “Thanks, dude.”  
  
“No prob!” comes the yelled reply.  
  
Kurt just rolls his eyes. “Go. Get your pictures taken.”  
  
“See ya,” says Puck, bounding out of the gymnasium.   
  
“There is something seriously wrong with that boy,” Kurt says to himself with a sigh.

  
  
  
**0000  
  
0000  
  
0000  
**

 

_  
One hours and twenty minutes in_

__

  
Kurt’s tapping his foot and humming along to the music as he watches Blaine twirl Becky around the dance floor.  
  
It’s just occurring to him that he should probably move closer to the sidelines of the dance floor when – _ooof!_ Someone smacks into him - not very forcefully, but hard enough to knock him a little off-balance.  
  
“S-sorry,” stammers the person.  
  
“It’s okay,” says Kurt breathlessly, straightening his tie and looking up to see… Zach’s date.  
  
“Oh,” says Kurt. “Hi. I’m”-  
  
“Yeah,” says the boy. “I, uh – I know who you are. I’m a year below you. My name’s Andrew.” He holds out a hand and Kurt shakes it.  
  
“You’re here with Zach Vincze, right?”  
  
Andrew blushes. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. Let me tell you – going to someone’s senior prom as a first date? That’s a lot of pressure. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s awesome that I’m here. And… I’m told that I have you to thank for it?”  
  
“Partially, I guess,” admits Kurt.  
  
“Well… thanks. It means a lot.”  
  
They stand there in silence for a few seconds.  
  
“So where’s Zach?” asks Kurt.  
  
“Oh, he went to grab us some drinks. He should be down soon.”  
  
Kurt half-wants out of this conversation – and the other half of him wants to shake the boy by the shoulders and say: ‘Please just _talk_ to me. I’ve never even _met_ another gay guy who isn’t my boyfriend or a bully who tried to make my life a living hell. What’s it like for you? How did you know? When did you know? Do your parents know? Did you just come out? Have you _been_ out?’ Fortunately Kurt manages to suppress this urge – which is good, considering he doesn’t want to scare the boy off.   
  
“So… how did you and Zach meet?” he asks. That’s inoffensive enough, right?  
  
Andrew lights up. “We run track together. God, he was making me so crazy,” he says, half-laughing at the memory. “He was always so nice to me – but really, he’s nice to everyone, so I had no idea if he was into me or not. And then he’d make up all of these reasons for us to train together one-on-one for meets, and I wasn’t sure if this was his bizarre idea of courtship or if he really thought I needed the extra practice. Half the time he’d be acting like a ridiculous flirt and I would be so sure that he liked me – but then every time I tried to gently make a move, he’d give me _nothing_ back, to the point that I wondered if I was just making the whole thing up in my head, you know? It was… _so_ incredibly frustrating. Seriously. You have no idea.”  
  
Kurt smiles tightly at Andrew. “Well,” he says, “I can try to imagine.”  
  
  


 

**0000  
 **  
0000****

**0000  
**

_  
Two hours and fifteen minutes in_

__

  
Kurt’s never really danced with Blaine before tonight. They’ve done plenty of choreographed dances in Warblers’ practices, and they’ve done some jokey, fake-dancing a la “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.”  
  
But they’ve never danced like _this._  
  
Kurt had allowed to himself to hope that Blaine would be a good dancer, and he’s relieved to find that when his boyfriend isn’t trying to be a total _goof_ , he can dance quite well. He’d hoped that dancing with Blaine would be romantic, and it has been. He’d hoped it would be fun – and it absolutely is.  
  
But what he had neither hoped for nor counted on is the fact that it’s also a _total fucking turn-on.  
_  
He’d never really considered what the reality of dancing with his boyfriend would be like: The warm heat of Blaine pressed insistently against him, the light sheen of sweat on Blaine’s forehead, the red lights blazing against their skin in the darkness of the gym, and the fast, fierce tempo of the music burning through their bodies. He hadn’t been prepared for the intimacy of it, or the memories that both the familiarity of their position and the rhythm of their movements are dredging up to the surface: ‘We basically did _exactly this_ two weeks ago except it was up against a door and it _wasn’t_ so much in front of all my classmates.’  
  
Kurt isn’t fully hard or anything, but he’s… getting there. He’s just about to ask Blaine if they can take a break so that he can cool down a little, when –   
  
“Porcelain, is it possible that your _head_ is as empty as the glands in your body responsible for testosterone production? I can think of no other reason why you would renege on our agreement.”  
  
He looks up in horror to see an enraged-looking Coach Sylvester towering over himself and Blaine, her nostrils flaring dramatically – and yep, Kurt’s cooled down, all right.  
  
“Coach Sylvester,” says Kurt, affecting a smile. “I was just going to go looking for”-  
  
“Save it,” she snaps, flourishing dramatically and - god, is she wearing a _bejeweled_ track suit? “I believe I’m owed a dance.”  
  
“Yes,” says Kurt, in what he hopes is a placating tone. “Yes, you are. Blaine, if you wouldn’t mind”-  
  
But his sentence is cut off as Coach Sylvester gasps in horror at… well, it appears she’s looking at _Blaine._  
  
“His hair,” she hisses. “My god, Porcelain, have I taught you _nothing?_ Never trust a man with curly hair! It’s the cardinal rule.”  
  
“Of dating?” asks Kurt.  
  
“Of _life_ , Porcelain. _Of life._ Why is this the first time I’m bearing witness to this travesty?”  
  
Blaine runs a hand through his hair awkwardly. “Well, I – I usually gel it down.”  
  
Her expression of outrage is truly terrifying to behold. “First curls– and now _product?_ ” She grabs an extremely startled Blaine by the shoulders. “You. Listen to me very carefully. I’m going to give you my cell phone and in a minute I’m going to ask you to leave and call _William. Eleanor. Schuester._ Got that?”  
  
Blaine nods mutely.  
  
“Good. Now there are _two_ numbers programmed into my phone as Curly-Haired-Man-With-Vest-Fetish. The first one listed is my cousin Randall, and the second is William. The way you can tell the difference is that in William’s entry, there is a pointed question mark after the word _‘man.’_ When you reach him, tell him that this madness needs to stop. He is now _i_ _nfecting_ the next generation with his disease; spreading his twisted, perverted lust for cheap hair-care products to the children. _T_ _he children!”  
_  
Blaine’s eyes are wider than Kurt’s ever seen them. “My hair-care products are actually very expensiv”-  
  
 _“Go!”_ she shouts, shoving her cell phone into Blaine’s hand and giving him a small push.   
  
She turns back to Kurt, jerking her thumb over her shoulder toward Blaine. “God, I thought we’d _never_ get that guy to leave.”

She grabs Kurt’s hands. “Come on, Porcelain. I’m leading.”  
  


  
**0000  
  
0000  
  
0000  
**

_Two hours and twenty minutes in_

__

  
“You know,” says Kurt casually to Coach Sylvester as she pulls him along the dance floor. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you did a very nice thing for me this week.”  
  
“Yes, well, I’ve always considered myself to be a blessing to the less fortunate. Consider everything I’ve done today: Lowered myself to dancing with an androgynous gelfling. Gave that midget companion of yours some beauty tips. Gave a truly inspiring pep-talk to a weepy pansexual cheerleader bemoaning her fate in a bathroom stall.”  
  
Kurt freezes. “Brittany was crying in the bathroom? Why?”  
  
And suddenly Coach Sylvester tugs on his arm, pulling Kurt into a weird, graceless spin. He guesses that it’s a weird type of dance move, until he realizes that the point of it was apparently to get him facing the opposite direction.  
  
Because now he can see – _oh._ Coach Sylvester leans down. “I wasn’t talking about Brittany.”  
  
Kurt’s jaw drops in surprise. Brittany is standing about ten feet from them, her slender dancer’s arms twined around _Santana’s_ neck. Their foreheads are pressed together, much like his and Blaine’s had been earlier. When the girls eventually angle themselves toward Kurt as they sway to the music, he can see the redness around Santana’s eyes. And when Brittany lifts her head up, Kurt sees that her eyes don’t look vacant or blank, as they often do – they look clear and bright, a little hopeful and a little afraid.   
  
A voice startles Kurt from his thoughts: “May I please have my boyfriend back?”  
  
They both look up to see Blaine, his arms crossed over his chest, looking understandably annoyed, although his tone is impeccably polite.  
  
“Did you make the phone call to William?” asks Coach Sylvester, straightening up imperiously to her full height.  
  
“Sadly, no,” sighs Blaine. “I was forced to waste valuable time jotting down the last few dozen numbers in your call log, including three or four that I _really_ hope I don’t accidentally mention to my uncle who works for the Department of Homeland Security. And after I finished with that, I was _going_ to make the call – but then I got distracted by the regulations in the Lima City School District’s handbook that discuss physical contact between teachers and students. It’s such a shame that Kurt hasn’t graduated yet, isn’t it? As I understand it, allegations of that nature can ruin the careers of even the best educators. But now I’ve gotten off-topic. Where was I? Oh, yes.” He narrows his eyes at Coach Sylvester. “May I _please_ have my boyfriend back?”  
  
Coach Sylvester puts her hands on her hips and stands still for a long moment, regarding Blaine almost curiously. Finally she glances sideways and looks at Kurt. “I like him,” she says finally. “He’s more like you than I thought.”  
  
“Witty?” Kurt asks her.  
  
“Ruthless,” she corrects him.  
  


  
**0000  
  
0000  
  
0000  
**   
  


_Three hours and fifteen minutes in_

__

  
So it turns out that one of the best and worst parts of being in a glee club that sings mostly popular music is that the songs they’ve performed keep being played.  
  
Every time he hears a familiar drumbeat or an opening guitar riff or a vocal run, he’ll be transported back to the choir room or the auditorium, remembering the hard work and sweat and _fun_ that had been poured into their routines.  
  
He and Blaine are dancing in a giant cluster of New Directions members, and every time one of their songs starts playing, the glee kids go absolutely wild. When _Bad Romance_ starts up, Tina and Quinn squeal and grab Blaine’s arms.   
  
“You should have seen the outfit your boyfriend was wearing!” laughs Tina. “You’d probably be forced to drag him off and have your wicked way with him.”  
  
“Oh, why don’t we have video of that performance?” groans Rachel.  
  
“I think I might have a video of it,” says Puck, pulling out his cell phone. “What?” he says, off everyone’s looks. “It’s a good song, okay? And the girls were looking seriously _hot._ ” Lauren smacks him. “Not as hot as you, baby,” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
“Well, that goes without saying,” agrees Lauren.  
  
 _“Nooo,_ ” wails Kurt as Puck tries to get the video to load. “Come on, guys, really – there’s no need.”  
  
They feel that rush with every glee song that comes on: _Toxic. Tik-tok. Gold Digger. Single Ladies. Ride Wit Me. Empire State of Mind.  
_  
Some of the songs they halfway attempt the choreography for – and with others they just give up and invent their own. Either way, each song ends with a huge tangle of glee kids laughing and shrieking and “Do-you-remember-when-we-did-that?”  
  
And Kurt _does_ remember. He’s as sure as he can be that he’ll remember these songs, these moments, and these people for the rest of his life.  
  
When _Teenage Dream_ starts playing toward the end of the night, Kurt nearly floats up to the ceiling as Blaine twirls him giddily around the dance floor, both of them singing along loudly. All the New Directions kids are looking at the two of them like they’ve gone crazy - which is honestly kind of true, because anyone who’s in love with another person is forced to give up at least _some_ of their sanity.  
  
The music keeps playing and the glee kids keep dancing. The songs that are arguably the most emotional for them don’t get played, of course. _Don’t Stop Believing_ isn’t a prom standard. Neither is _Faithfully_  nor _To Sir, With Love_  nor _One of Us_  nor _Somebody to Love.  
_  
But one of the last songs of the night is _My Life Would Suck Without You._ And Kurt looks around at every single member of New Directions - and he finds himself in total agreement with Kelly Clarkson.  
  
 _Yes_ , he thinks to himself as the chorus kicks in. _It really, really would.  
_

  
  
**0000  
  
0000  
  
0000  
**

_  
Three hours and thirty minutes in_

__

  
They’d danced the last song _(Wonderful Tonight) i_ n their same-sex pairs. True, Finn and Puck had stood about a mile apart. True, Santana had spent the whole song glaring at Brittany and Becky. And true, Mercedes and Rachel had both been sobbing so much that they’d basically just stood there crying into each other’s shoulders.  
  
But it had been – well – kind of beautiful, really.  
  
And now the song is over, and Kurt is reluctantly removing his hands from Blaine’s waist and trying to ignore how _unbelievably_ kissable Blaine looks right now. Santana, meanwhile, is dragging Brittany over to where he and Blaine are standing.  
  
“What do you say we leave this school with a bang, Hummel?”  
  
Kurt blinks. “Um – what do you – ?”  
  
But Santana isn’t listening.  
  
Instead she surges forward, sweeping Brittany into a fiery kiss. Brittany melts into the embrace, sighing into Santana’s mouth and settling her hands low on Santana’s back and just – wow. Even _Kurt_ is forced to admit that there's a serious hotness factor at work here.  
  
The fluorescent lights of the gymnasium are flickering back on and a few people have started to notice the display. There are a few approving catcalls, a few loud hisses, and several angry jeers. Far from breaking the kiss, Santana _deepens_ it. She gently untangles her left hand from Brittany’s hair – leaving her other hand firmly on Brittany’s ass – and sticks up her middle finger in the general direction of the onlookers.   
  
They break apart about fifteen seconds later, both girls breathing harshly and Santana wiping her mouth off with the back of her wrist.   
  
“That?” says Santana. “Was _so_ awesome.”  
  
“I know, right?” agrees Brittany. “Totally awesome.”  
  
Santana pivots and faces Kurt. “All right, boys. You’re up.”  
  
Kurt meets Blaine’s gaze. The idea _does_ have merit; he’ll give Santana that. But still –   
  
“Don’t feel obligated,” he tells Blaine. “I mean, I don’t think anything will actually happen, seeing as we have, like, half the starters on the football team shielding us. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to”-  
  
“Oh, I _want_ to,” says Blaine roughly. “That’s really not a problem.”  
  
Kurt feels a little shiver of excitement and apprehension zip up his spine. Oh my god – he’s really going to do this. Here. Now. In this gymnasium.   
  
The same gymnasium where he’d been shoved so hard by a hockey player that he’d dislocated his shoulder. The same gymnasium in which the PE teacher had rolled his eyes in disgust at Kurt’s request to _please_ let him change in the girl’s locker room. This same gymnasium where he’d sung a Madonna song with his best friend and rocked it so hard that he’d brought the whole school to its feet.  
  
And now he’s going to stand in this gymnasium and make out with the _hottest f_ ucking guy at the prom – who just so happens to be his boyfriend.  
  
If he’d been worried about having an audience, he’d worried for nothing. The second Blaine pulls Kurt flush against him and captures his mouth in a kiss, the rest of the world disappears completely.  
  
If there are people glaring angrily at him, Kurt can’t see them. He only sees the blackness of his eyelids as Blaine’s mouth surges hungrily against his. If people are shouting or hissing or booing, Kurt’s can’t hear them. The only sound he can hear is Blaine’s startled intake of breath as Kurt tugs gently on his lower lip. People could be brawling for all he knows; fighting or shoving each other. All of Kurt’s attention is focused on the tense grip of Blaine’s fingers on his biceps and the strong press of Blaine’s chest against his as they breathe into one another.  
  
He’s not sure who breaks the kiss first; all Kurt knows is that he’d never wanted it to end. When he can manage to breathe properly again, Kurt looks around to see… well, not much of anything. There are only a few stragglers left in the gym aside from the glee kids, and they seem to be too absorbed in gathering up their purses and finding their tuxedo jackets to care about Kurt or Blaine.  
  
Santana punches him lightly in the arm. “Feel good?”  
  
Kurt nods, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Yeah, actually. That was a good send-off.”  
  
The next five minutes are spent saying tearful good-byes. It’s silly in a way, since they’ll see each other at graduation practice in three days and many of them will see each other even before that, but… it _does_ feel like the end of something; and at the same time it feels like the beginning of something else.  
  
“So,” says Blaine conversationally, as the two of them walk to the parking lot behind Finn and Rachel. “That was the prom.”  
  
“It was indeed,” agrees Kurt.  
  
“That’s one more important life milestone behind us.”  
  
Kurt loops his arm around Blaine’s waist, draws him in closer. “Still up for conquering another one tonight?”  
  
Blaine leans up and gently nips at Kurt’s earlobe. “So, _so_ ready,” he whispers.  
  
They say another quick good-bye to Finn and Rachel once they get to their respective cars. Finn gives Kurt an awkward, one-armed hug (Kurt has never _quite_ mastered the art of the manly-thump-on-the-back, although Blaine does it quite well) and Rachel throws her arms around Kurt, still crying a little.  
  
“Are you okay, sweetie?” he asks, because _seriously_. She’s been crying non-stop for the past half-hour. That can’t be normal.  
  
“Yeah,” says Rachel, hastily swiping at her eyes with the enormous sleeve of Finn’s tuxedo jacket that is draped across her shoulders. “I just – I never thought I’d have this, you know?”  
  
“This?” echoes Kurt uncertainly.  
  
 _“Friends,_ ” she says. “A boyfriend. You. Mercedes. Finn. Everyone. I just – I never thought I’d be slow dancing at _my_ prom with _my_ boyfriend, surrounded by a group of _my_ friends. I never would have believed you if you’d told me that freshman year w-when it was just me. When everyone hated me and I hated myself.”  
  
Not for the first time, Kurt is forced to appreciate the similarities between himself and Rachel Berry.

“I’m sorry – I’m just babbling. D-did you have a nice time?” she asks, dabbing at her eyes again. “Was it a good prom?”

Kurt leans down, presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “Best prom,” he corrects her.  
  
And even though he’s never been to a prom, and thus has no point of comparison –   
  
Kurt is absolutely positive that he’s _right._  
  


 


	6. Part Four-A

**__**

**__**

 

**__**

_Fifty-six minutes post-prom_

__

 

__

 

The prom had been scheduled to end at 11:30. The Wingate is about a ten-minute drive from McKinley, and Blaine had told the hotel receptionist to expect them by 11:45.  
 

By the time the boys breathlessly enter the hotel lobby, hand-in-hand, the clock above the front desk reads 12:26. 

“Reservation under Anderson?” says Blaine politely to the front desk clerk, a woman in her thirties. “I’m sorry we weren’t on time. We experienced some… unexpected delays.”

Kurt just barely suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. First of all, Blaine’s formalities are a little ridiculous sometimes. Secondly, ‘unexpected delays’ is stretching the truth to the breaking point.

They’d physically gotten into the car at 11:41, at which point they’d spent four minutes engaging in a celebratory, post-prom make-out session. Then they’d started out for the hotel, where they were ‘delayed’ by a three minute hey-we’re-stopped-at-a-red-light-so-why-the-hell-not make-out session, which had quickly devolved into a fourteen minute the-light-just-turned-green-so-let’s-just-pull-over-somewhere-and-keep-making-out make-out session. They’d finally pulled into the hotel parking lot at 12:03, although their impromptu we-finally-made-it-to-the-hotel make-out session hadn’t ended until 12:09.

Now at that point, they’d realized that they looked far too debauched to actually _enter_ the hotel. Blaine had spent about two minutes rearranging his hair and clothing, and an additional three minutes watching Kurt meticulously restyle himself, a process Blaine had found completely endearing. So endearing, in fact, that he’d felt he could only convey his feelings of adoration by kissing Kurt senseless for several minutes - which had the unfortunate side effect of negating all the progress they’d made on being able to enter the hotel.

But they’re here now at 12:27 – looking only slightly the worse for wear - and Kurt supposes that’s really all that matters.

“Anderson?” repeats the front desk clerk, typing quickly into her computer.

“That’s correct,” says Blaine courteously.

“I’m seeing a reservation for a standard guest room, one queen-sized bed?”

“Yes, I”-

“Excuse me,” interrupts a loud voice. A woman in her early forties is directly behind them; she looks exhausted and she sounds extremely irritable. “I need a room with two double beds.”

“We do have availability,” says the front desk clerk. “I’ll just be a minute longer with these gentlemen, and then I’ll certainly be happy to assist you”-

The woman seems to notice Kurt and Blaine for the first time. Her facial expression, which had already been twisted into a frown, turns positively glacial. She stares at their tightly clasped hands and waves her arm dismissively, abruptly cutting off the clerk.

“Forget it,” she snaps. “We won’t be staying here after all. I was under the impression that this was a _family_ -friendly hotel chain and, well, I can see that that’s certainly not the case.”

The woman’s meaning couldn’t be clearer. It’s as though Kurt has been doused with ice-water; he feels shocked, frozen, and oddly numb at the same time.

The front desk clerk’s voice is painstakingly polite. “Ma’am, I would be”-

But the woman’s hand is already pushing against the metal of the door handle. Just before the door swings open, however, she pauses, removing her hand and turning around to address… Kurt. She’s probably speaking to Blaine as well, but right now it feels like her eyes are boring straight into him alone.

“Can I just say something?” She asks the (clearly rhetorical) question with a distinct edge to her voice. “I’m hearing a lot about special rights for… _special_ groups these days. What about _my_ right to bring my children somewhere without having to worry about what they’ll be exposed to? What about my children’s right to be safe and protected?” She shifts her gaze to the front desk clerk and gives her a pointed look. “We’ll be taking our business elsewhere.” The door clicks shut quietly behind her as she exits the lobby.

The next several seconds consist of the ugliest silence Kurt has ever known. He can feel Blaine’s eyes on him, the expression in them concerned and a little curious, and he knows both of them are wondering the same thing: Why hadn’t Kurt said something?

He and Blaine have received their fair share of comments in public, and there has always been a strange, unspoken rule in existence: Kurt handles situations that come up in Lima and Blaine takes point when they’re in Westerville. It’s not meant to be territorial or anything – it’s almost more of an apology: _I’m sorry these people from my town are being such jerks. Let me deal with this._

__So why hadn’t he? Why had he stood there, struck dumb, instead of twisting her hateful words and throwing them back at her? It isn’t as though he’s at a loss for what to say, either. _Well, lady – what about my right to not be **beaten up** by children like **yours** every day when I was in school?_

__But that’s when Kurt realizes the problem: _‘When I was in school_.’ Because he _isn’t_ in high school; he isn’t a child anymore.

The public taunts they’ve gotten have all been from other teenagers - and even though doing so would be a last resort, Kurt had always thought in the back of his mind that if things ever got _very_ dangerous, he could go to the nearest adult for help. He’d assumed they would intervene even if they didn’t approve of who he was - because at the end of the day, he was still a _kid_. And although getting older has its advantages, looking young (and fairly adorable) has always helped him in those types of situations, acting as a barrier against people’s baser instincts.

It’s obvious tonight that that barrier is basically gone, and that growing up doesn’t just mean proms and graduation parties and freshmen orientation. It means that an adult woman will now confront him in public because she actively believes he’s a _danger_ to her children. She’d looked at him like he was something predatory: _Stay away from strangers and spiders and swimming pools and sharp objects and men like_ ** _that_**.

The eyes of the hotel clerk are on him as well, and there’s a part of Kurt that wants to call the whole night off, just leave with Blaine and walk back out to the car – and now that he’s thinking about it, _god_ , what idiots they’d been. Making out on the side of the road? Making out in a public parking lot at night? _Anyone_ could have stumbled across them. One lousy prom had gone smoothly so - what? Suddenly Ohio has stopped being Ohio? People have stopped being people?

He should have known better.

Kurt half-heartedly tries to tug his hand out of Blaine’s grasp, but Blaine isn’t having it. He tightens his grip a little, strokes his thumb reassuringly across the back of Kurt’s knuckles, and continues on as though nothing had happened.

“I’m sorry. I believe you were saying you’d found our reservation”-

“No,” says the clerk briskly. “I didn’t. It appears that I must have misplaced it.”

Kurt’s jaw drops. He glances over at Blaine, who looks equally taken aback. _Is this really happening to them?  
_  
“Well,” says Blaine slowly, “may we please reserve a standard guest room, then?”

“I’m afraid they’re all booked, sir,” she says.

Kurt _just_ manages to keep from exploding at her; he’s about to march furiously out of the lobby when the clerk reaches down into a drawer, pulls out a room key card, and sets it in on the counter in front of them.

She meets Kurt’s eyes. “Unfortunately… because I _misplaced_ your reservation,” she says with a meaningful pause, “and because _all_ of our guest rooms are booked,” she says, again with a pointed look at him, “…you’ll have to take our honeymoon suite. It’s exceptionally lovely, and of course you’ll pay the standard guest room rate, since it was my error.”

Blaine’s eyes widen. “You don’t have to”-

The clerk shakes her head, and she quickly jerks her eyes toward the room behind her, as if to indicate that someone might be listening in or watching the conversation.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” she says, sliding the room key toward them, the corners of her mouth lifting very slightly. “Enjoy your stay.”

 

 

**0000  
  
0000   
  
0000   
  
  
**

 

_One hour and fifteen minutes post-prom  
  
  
_

Kurt nearly collapses into Blaine’s arms as soon as they’re inside the elevator. They hold one another tightly as it rises to the eleventh floor and the position relaxes Kurt a little; it reminds him of the slow dances they’d shared earlier in the evening.

“What do you think her story is?” Kurt asks Blaine thoughtfully.” The receptionist at the front desk, I mean?”

Blaine shrugs, his shoulder rising and falling against Kurt’s. “I have no idea. But she has one. Everyone does.”   
  
“Even… that woman?”   
  
Blaine looks surprised. “ _Especially_ that woman. You and I have no idea what her life’s like, Kurt. Maybe the only gay person she’s ever met was a complete jerk. Maybe she’s gay and closeted herself. Or maybe she’d normally _never_ say what she said, but something awful happened today and she just snapped – maybe someone close to her died and that’s why she and her family have to suddenly be in town. Maybe”-  
  
“Or maybe,” says Kurt tightly, “she’s just another ignorant asshole with no excuse for her behavior.”   
  
Blaine sighs. “And the difference between us is that you’d rather believe that.”   
  
Kurt pulls back from the embrace. “I wouldn’t _rather_ believe it, Blaine. I just believe it.”  
  
“And I wasn’t making excuses for her. All I said was that I think there’s an explanation.”

"Who cares if there’s an explanation?”   
  
Blaine lightly nudges his foot against Kurt’s. “Come on, now you’re just being difficult. _I_ care, obviously. I can’t _change_ something if I don’t know why it is the way it is.”   
  
Kurt shakes his head at his Blaine in fond exasperation. “You’re going to choose some pain-in-the-ass career where you spend all your time trying to save people from themselves, aren’t you?”   
  
“That’s the plan. Lucky for me, I have this cynical, pain-in-the-ass boyfriend I can practice my skills on.”   
  
Kurt rolls his eyes. “Tell him I said he sounds like a keeper.”   
  
Blaine pulls Kurt in closer until their foreheads are nearly touching. “I’m not mentioning you to him at all. He’s totally the jealous type.”   
  
Kurt brushes his lips lightly against Blaine’s. “I think I could take him,” he whispers, just as the elevator doors slide open. 

  
  
**0000  
  
0000   
  
0000   
**

  
 

_One hour and twenty minutes post-prom  
  
  
_

“Wow,” says Blaine as he enters the suite. “This room is… I’ve never seen… I mean, it looks…”

“…like Valentine’s Day died a horrible death in here and no one bothered to clean up the remains?”   
  
“Pretty much, yeah.”   
  
Their first impression is that the room is very… _red_. The walls and ceiling are white with large pink plastic hearts stuck all over them – but the carpeting is red, the curtains are red, the desk is red, and there is a large bed with red satin sheets and a white duvet, which naturally has red rose petals scattered across it.

There is a red circular Jacuzzi on the right side of the room and there are two satiny-looking bathrobes (one red, one pink) draped across a white chair. The chair’s fabric pattern looks like it has hearts on it, too, but on closer inspection, they prove to be tiny red –   
  
“Are those _ladybugs?”_   
  
“No. They’re little cupids.”   
  
“No, Kurt. These are definitely ladybugs.”   
  
“Well, you clearly need to get your eyes checked, because these are – oh my god. _No_. Blaine, I can’t – I can’t look. Just tell me, does this chair have -?”   
  
“-an alternating pattern of ladybugs _and_ baby cupids on it? Yes, Kurt. Yes, it does.” And if that isn’t nightmare-inducing enough-   
  
“Blaine?” asks Kurt in a strangled voice. “What the hell is _that?”_   
  
Blaine follows Kurt’s gaze to where something is dangling from this ceiling. Blaine bravely fetches the (lurid pink) desk chair and stands on it to inspect whatever it is at close range. It turns out to be a truly hideous-looking stuffed cupid holding a sparkly purple bow and arrow. It also has a scroll hanging from its foot, with a poem on it that reads:   
  
_If under this Cupid you kiss  
You will have matrimonial bliss!   
  
_Kurt backs away from Blaine. “Oh my god, get that thing _away_ from me.”   
  
He turns to look outside – whatever’s out there _has_ to be better than the view in here – when he notices that what he’d assumed to be a large window is actually a door leading out to a balcony. “Did you know this was out here?” he asks curiously, turning back toward Blaine.   
  
Blaine shakes his head, gingerly holding up the pink bathrobe. “No. I’m busy having my _own_ fun over here.” He turns the bathrobe around so that Kurt can see the back. There is writing on it; lavender-colored words embroidered in a flowing, curlicue-style script: _XOXO! Hugs and Kisses for the new Mr. and Mrs_!   
  
Kurt scrunches up his face in disgust, and in fact he’s still wincing as he pushes the balcony door open. He takes a few cautious steps forward and stops short at the sight below him. West Market Street is certainly one of the nicer - and more bustling - sections of Lima, and the downtown looks unexpectedly beautiful when viewed from an eleventh-story perch.   
  
The twinkling lights of the buildings are soon the only source of illumination; Blaine has apparently decided to shut off the lights in the hotel room. The cool spring night air surrounds Kurt, a light breeze ruffling his hair and rippling the fabric of his dress shirt. He feels oddly grown-up right now, standing on the terrace in his elegant formal-wear and reveling in the knowledge that his _lover_ is waiting for him inside their (admittedly ridiculous) suite.   
  
The door creaks open behind him and Blaine steps out to join Kurt, his form silhouetted in the darkness.  
  
“This is nice,” he says quietly, moving to stand beside him.

“I assume you’re referring to the view and not the… _room_.”  
  
“Mm-hmm,” agrees Blaine placidly.   
  
“Find anything else exciting in there?”   
  
“Well, I checked out the bathroom. The toilet is pink, the sink is light purple, and the soap dish is in the shape of a _baby carriage.”  
_  
“Seriously? That is tacky to the point of offensive.” Kurt shudders, picturing it. “By the way… as much as I understand the need to, you know, _not_ be able to see the room, how are we supposed to find our way to the bed with the lights off?”   
  
“Good news. You know the pink plastic hearts on the ceiling and walls?”   
  
Kurt freezes. “Blaine, please tell me they don’t glow in the”-   
  
“They _absolutely_ glow in the dark.”

Kurt groans. “Is it too late to go and beg for a standard guest room?”   
 

 

**0000  
  
0000   
  
0000   
  
  
**

 

 One hour and forty-five minutes post-prom  
  
  


The fifth time it happens is when Kurt gives up. _Once again_ they’re on the bed, both of them having stripped down to just their boxers, and _once again_ they’re kissing one another deeply - and then just when they’re really getting into it, one or both of them will shift positions slightly and –   
  
“Aaack!”   
  
“Hold on! I’ve got you”- and Blaine will have to lunge across to the edge of the bed to prevent Kurt from sliding onto the floor. (He’d only missed once out of five times, so it could have been a lot worse). “Sorry,” he says, panting from the effort of pulling Kurt back up. “Satin sheets are apparently not all they’re cracked up to be… _whoa_ …”   
  
“Not only,” says Kurt, breathing heavily, “do I refuse to believe any actual couples reserve this as a honeymoon suite, but I fail to see how _any sex at all_ occurs in this room. It smells like my Great-Aunt Mildred in here, the bed _alone_ is one giant cockblock, and the décor is completely killing the mood.”   
  
“Well, I’ll give you that it’s a little – oh, _shit!”_ hisses Blaine as he loses his battle with the sheets. The next thing Kurt knows, he’s gone from slip-sliding against satin to being eye-level with red carpet fibers - with Blaine sprawled painfully on top of him.   
  
“Oww…” says Kurt weakly.   
  
“Sorry,” says Blaine, his voice muffled.   
  
“Blaine,” wheezes Kurt, “I don’t know how to tell you this – but I think it’s just not happening tonight.”   
  
There is a short pause. “Okay…” says Blaine slowly. “That’s fine. Is it – nerves?”   
  
“Partly, yeah. It’s also the fact that I can’t get myself excited about topping, no matter how hard I try. There’s the fact that neither of us can even stay on the damn _bed_. There’s the fact that I am lying on the floor of a room that is covered in glow in the dark pink hearts and has _baby-carriage_ soap dishes and fake rose petals that I’m pretty sure are making my skin break out. There’s the fact that we have condoms that have been ‘designed with the woman in mind.’ Basically, this is how _Rachel Berry_ should be losing her virginity. It’s not exactly how I pictured us losing ours.”   
  
Blaine manages to extricate himself from the tangle of limbs on the floor. He flips himself over onto his side, facing Kurt. “Well, why does it have to go exactly like you’re picturing it? Isn’t it more important that we’re here together and that we love each other and that we both want the same thing?”   
  
Kurt manages to sit up, swiping his bangs out his eyes. “I think that’s kind of the problem here, Blaine - we _both_ want the same thing, coin toss or not.” _  
  
_ He takes a deep breath and thinks _: total honesty._ This is hard – but it’s how they operate. It’s one of the main reasons they function so well as a couple, and it’s definitely the only way they’ll be able to make it work long-distance. Kurt draws his legs up against his chest and closes his eyes, resting his chin on his left knee and steeling himself to say what he’s needed to say for a while now.   
  
“It’s not that I don’t want to have sex. I think about it all the time, Blaine; me on my knees or on my back or even… standing against a wall. And you being… _inside_ me. And it’s – it’s not that I’ve ever had this idea that my first time would be perfect. But - even though I get where you were coming from - I don’t think my first time should be me doing something I don’t find appealing, just because I lost a coin toss. I think…” Kurt pauses. “…I think I deserve to have a better first time than that.”   
  
Kurt keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to see the sympathy-tinged-with- _pity_ that will be in Blaine’s eyes, and he waits for the murmured words of the not-entirely-necessary apology that Blaine will undoubtedly be -   
  
“I can’t help but feel,” says Blaine, the icy, clipped tone of his voice shocking Kurt, making him open his eyes and startling him out of himself, “that this honesty would have been more useful either right before or right after you – _you, Kurt_ – brought up the idea of us losing our virginity on prom night. And I’m not loving the fact that you _just now_ tried to make me feel like I’m taking advantage of you – despite the fact that I told you plenty of times it was perfectly okay to back out; and despite the fact that you were apparently lying to my face when you told me you still wanted to do this.”   
  
A rush of heat and shock hits Kurt as he absorbs these words and his stomach starts twisting into knots at the expression in Blaine’s eyes – it’s not a cruel look, but Blaine’s gaze is direct and unrelenting. “I wasn’t lying,” Kurt protests nervously. “I just… changed my mind, I guess.”   
  
“When?”   
  
Kurt shrugs. “I don’t know… a few days ago, maybe?”   
  
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” says Blaine evenly, “but did you or did you not say in the parking lot: ‘Still up for conquering another milestone tonight?’ Did I imagine that?”   
  
“Well, no, but – okay - honestly? I wasn’t sure whether I could go through with it or not. But you even _said_ I could back out, Blaine. You said it was _fine_ if I backed out.”   
  
“It _is_ fine, Kurt. It absolutely is, and you shouldn’t need me to tell you that. But it’s not okay to make me feel like a jerk, just because I can’t read your mind. I can only go by what you’re telling me, and you didn’t tell me _anything_.”   
  
“Blaine, I”- Kurt’s head is swimming. How had everything gone downhill so _quickly?_ Panic courses through him; making Kurt feel unfocused and hopelessly off-balance. He and Blaine fight so rarely that he’s just… at a loss. _Get it together, Kurt. What’s going on here? Blaine’s upset… because we’re not having sex. You can fix this.  
  
_ Kurt shakes his head to clear it and slithers toward Blaine, who is now sitting Indian-style directly across from him. He reaches for the waistband of Blaine’s boxers. His boyfriend visibly recoils, jerking back as though Kurt’s touch has burned him.   
  
“What the hell are you doing?” he gasps.   
  
“I’m – I’m trying to - look, I know things aren’t going like we’d planned, but we can still… I don’t understand. I thought this was what you wanted.”   
  
Blaine moves back from him completely; he stands up slowly, his eyes angry and bright. “Wow, Kurt,” Blaine breathes sarcastically, his voice shaking with barely-suppressed fury. “It’s like you _know_ me.”   
  
“Blaine, I didn’t mean”-   
  
But Blaine is walking away from him, headed for the terrace. “I need to calm down. I’m getting some air.”   
  
“Blaine, _wait_ ”-   
  
The slam of the balcony door is the only reply Kurt receives. He stays in his position on the floor for several long minutes, feeling dazed. Half of him wants to go out to the balcony. The other half… doesn’t even know what he would say to Blaine right now.   
  
When he finally stands up, his legs are shaky and he stumbles into the red desk with the lurid pink chair. The desk rattles and something tumbles off of it – a box of chocolates Kurt hadn’t noticed before amid the rest of the room’s accoutrements. A few truffles escape the box and the lid is knocked sideways. Kurt stares absently at the top of the box, cardboard wrapped in a garish metallic-red covering with gold writing on it: _Best wishes for the happy couple.  
_  
He hadn’t even realized it was possible to feel worse, but somehow he does. Leaving the mess on the floor, he crawls back onto the bed, not bothering to get underneath the covers. He shuts off the lamp next to the bed and lies down on his back near the center of the mattress. It seems like the safest place to be, since if he starts to slide off the sheets, Blaine won’t be there to keep him from falling.   
  
Kurt lies there on the bed, eyes open and unblinking, for a long time – until the pink hearts on the ceiling start to blur at the edges, until the hearts begin to interlock and overlap and then finally shift into glowing pink orbs with no shape to them at all.   
  
When he closes his eyes, the hearts are still there, as though they’ve been burned into the back of his eyelids.   
  
He sleeps, but he doesn’t dream.  
  
 

 


	7. Part Four-B

 

_Two hours and twenty-eight minutes post-prom_

__

 

__

Not even half an hour later, Kurt begins to stir. He returns to himself slowly, hovering on the edge of wakefulness for several minutes.   
  
When he finally blinks his eyes open, hazy and half-conscious, he looks around the hotel room in confusion. He sees glowing pink hearts, sees two tuxedos hanging up side-by-side, sees a hideous ladybug-cupid chair, and feels the smooth slide of satin against his skin – and all of these elements are familiar, even if they haven’t yet cohered into memories.   
  
It isn’t until his eyes fall on the balcony door that _everything_ clicks into place. Kurt sits up straight in bed, his mind racing, as the outline of the evening coalesces. It’s like he’s suddenly flipping through the Scene Selections on a DVD menu: _The Dinner Scene. The Dancing Scene. The Kissing Scene. The Hotel Lobby Scene. The Dramatic Fight Scene_. He has no idea what scene is supposed to come next.   
  
The other side of the bed is empty and cold to the touch. A quick glance around the room confirms that Blaine’s overnight bag is still here – and if Kurt’s honest with himself, he knows that Blaine would never have _left_ him, anyway – which means that he’s still out on the balcony.   
  
Blaine is usually mature and understanding, sometimes to the point of absurdity. Kurt finds it oddly comforting to know that he’s still capable of throwing a good, old-fashioned teenage sulk-fest now and again. He wouldn’t want Blaine to be _too_ emo (Rachel Berry would probably have swan-dived off the balcony in this situation) but it’s good to know he’s human.   
  
And upon reflection, Kurt’s discovers that he’s… not _pissed_ at Blaine, exactly. But he’s not thrilled with him, either.   
  
He spends a few minutes mentally composing a speech. Kurt decides that it’s a very mature speech; it’s wise and it’s purposely a little condescending: I _understand where you were coming from, Blaine. You made some valid points, and they deserved to be discussed. But the way you said what you said made it impossible for any type of discussion to take place.  
  
_ Kurt resolves not to let anything Blaine might say dissuade him from giving this speech. He will be _confident_ , he thinks, as he kicks off the sheet. He will be poised and assured and –   
  
“Aaack!”   
  
Kurt slides off the (fucking satin!) sheets and tumbles gracelessly into a heap on the floor, his limbs sprawled at awkward angles.   
  
He hears the slam of a door, and then Blaine’s voice, sounding breathless and panicked: “ _Kurt_! Kurt? Are you okay? What happened? I heard”-   
  
“I’m _fine_ , thank you,” mutters Kurt darkly, with as much dignity as he can muster under the circumstances. He looks up to see Blaine standing in the doorway, still wearing just his dark blue boxers and looking more gorgeous than anyone has a right to look. Kurt also sees that Blaine is apparently trying not to _laugh_ at Kurt’s predicament – and you know what? Maybe he _is_ a little pissed, after all.   
  
Kurt manages to disentangle himself from the sheets and stands up, crossing his arms over his bare chest defensively. He looks at Blaine, and there are a thousand things he wants to say, a thousand questions he wants to ask him, and the one that manages to push its way to the surface is:   
  
“Blaine, why didn’t you want to top?”   
  
A slight flutter of fear pulses through Kurt’s veins. He hadn’t really meant to ask that so abruptly. But he’d been wondering about it for a while – and anyway, it’s out there now.   
  
Blaine gapes at him. “Excuse me?”   
  
Kurt tries to phrase this as delicately as he can. “We’ve talked about why I don’t want to, but you’ve never told me why you don’t want to. And it just surprises me, that’s all. You’re always so… in control of everything.”   
  
It’s true. And by that, Kurt doesn’t mean that Blaine is dominant. No, it’s something else altogether.   
  
He thinks back on the first blowjob he’d ever given Blaine – Blaine had kept his hips plastered to the bed and he’d barely let out a sound, beyond asking: “Are you sure you’re okay, Kurt?” every ten seconds – seriously, what seventeen-year-old guy can manage _that?_ His control-freak boyfriend, apparently.   
  
And control-freak Blaine is out in full force at the moment. His face is utterly unreadable. “Why does it matter?” he asks. “Why do you need to know?”   
  
Feeling annoyed and unrepentantly bitchy, Kurt raises an eyebrow and says, “Blaine, dearest, I can’t _change_ something if I don’t know why it is the way it is.”   
  
Blaine clenches his jaw tightly. “I’m not telling you why. And you’re not changing my mind about it, Kurt.”   
  
Kurt shrugs. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. I just had this silly idea that our relationship had a ‘total honesty’ policy. My mistake.”   
  
Blaine looks uncertain now, and maybe a little afraid. “Total honesty doesn’t mean that we have to share things that we don’t – it doesn’t mean that we have to”-   
  
“- be vulnerable?” finishes Kurt. “Yeah. That would be way too scary, wouldn’t it?” Kurt can actually _feel_ the anger build. Just how much has Blaine been holding back, anyway?   
  
“Can we please not talk about this?”   
  
“Well, we at least need to talk about _why_ we’re not talking about this! I’m sorry, but you’ve completely thrown me off here, Blaine. First you’re upset that _I_ wasn’t honest enough, and now you’re being all shifty and evasive and”-   
  
“-well, I’m sorry if”-   
  
“-and you blew up at me on my prom night”-   
  
“-it’s my prom night, too!”   
  
“And all I’m asking is that you explain to me why you don’t want to top, when you’ve _always_ taken the lead on everything we’ve done in the bedroom, when you’ve made it clear that you like to be in control”-   
  
“Well, maybe I don’t _want_ to be in control for once!”   
  
Kurt’s heart stops.   
  
He looks – _really_ looks – at Blaine, whose chest is heaving, whose face is flushed, whose curls are spilling in messy rivulets down the slope of his scalp.   
  
Everything about him is unbalancing Kurt at the moment – the words he’d confessed and obviously meant (which are the last words he’d ever thought Blaine would say), and the half-defiant, half-terrified expression on Blaine’s face, and the fact that Blaine is beautiful to the point of _painful_.   
  
They need to discuss this: _What does this mean for us? In terms of our relationship and our sex life and our future together?_ They need to talk about the importance of communication. They need to discuss power dynamics and safe-words. They need to talk about how topping doesn’t equal _controlling_ – because Kurt knows that that’s true, even if he has a hard time understanding it. They need to sit across from each other and hold hands and hash this out. There will be false starts and misunderstandings and accusations on both sides - and the whole prospect of this conversation is suddenly so exhausting that Kurt realizes he can’t possibly go through with it.   
  
It’s 2:07 in the morning. His ridiculously hot and basically-naked boyfriend is standing five feet away and has just requested that _he_ take charge. And if that’s what Blaine wants, then Kurt’s happy to oblige. And his first decision?   
  
Is that this discussion can fucking well wait until _morning_.   
  
“I’m going to kiss you,” he informs Blaine in the spirit of total honesty. “And then I’m going to do a lot more than kiss you. And then I’ll probably kiss you some more. Is that okay?”   
  
The look in Blaine’s eyes is searching. “Kurt, I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for”-   
  
“Blaine?” says Kurt, gritting his teeth, because _god, that mentor voice_.   
  
The flush on his face deepens slightly. “Yeah?”   
  
“I’m not in high school anymore.”   
  
And before Blaine can say another word, Kurt has closed the distance between them in three quick strides, sunk his fingers into the tangle of Blaine’s curls, and fused their mouths together. From the get-go, this kiss is a challenge – it’s forceful and edgy and it seems to be asking its own questions, like _which of us wants this more_ and _whose hands are gripping the other more tightly_ and _whose tongue will slide into the other’s mouth_ and _who will pull back first?_   
  
Kurt actually breaks the kiss first, but it’s not for the purposes of pulling away; it’s so that he can tip Blaine’s head back and nip roughly at his jaw, at the stretched-taut skin of his throat, at the shallow dip of his collarbone. It’s so that he can tighten his grip on Blaine’s hips and start licking his way down Blaine’s chest, laving long, wet strokes over and around each of his nipples, so that he can bend down lower until he’s on his knees, so that he can trace the edge of Blaine’s navel with his tongue and then dip it teasingly inside.   
  
Blaine lets out a soft, barely-discernible moan and Kurt relishes it, feeds off it. His fingertips hover at the waistband of Blaine’s boxers for a few seconds and then he tugs lightly at the material, slipping them just an inch or two downward. Blaine shifts slightly, his breath hitching at the friction of the fabric sliding against his erection that is jutting urgently outward - but Kurt’s not ready to go there yet. Instead he darts his tongue out again, dragging it across the newly-exposed skin, swirling it along the raised, red marks on Blaine’s hips and stomach that have been created by the imprint of the elastic.   
  
He moves his grip from Blaine’s hips to his lower back, sliding his hands underneath his boxers, lightly palming the cheeks of his ass as he continues to lick _just above_ where Blaine wants him to be. It’s a total tease, and it’s meant to be. Blaine has to be feeling frustrated, especially now as Kurt tugs downward on the elastic again, exposing the dark thatch of hair that curls around the base of his cock. He licks a long, firm stripe downward from Blaine’s navel, stopping just before he gets to the root of his cock to lick his way back upward and Blaine lets out a low whine of discontent. Kurt does it again; twice, thrice, and by the time he’s decided to suck on the skin of Blaine’s hip again, his boyfriend is kind of _shaking_.   
  
Kurt stands up then, pulling Blaine into his arms and kissing him fiercely. Blaine gasps into his mouth, clawing desperately at Kurt’s back, shoulders, upper arms – whatever skin he can reach.   
  
Blaine pushes away suddenly, angling his head downward, breathing harshly against Kurt’s shoulder. “Kurt – should we – the bed - ?”   
  
Kurt’s cock twitches with approval at that idea, but his brain overrides it. “No,” he says roughly. “We’ll kill ourselves on that stupid bed. Somewhere else.”   
  
“Where?” asks Blaine pleadingly, and _god_ , is it amazing to see him like this, clinging and half-desperate. But at the same time it feels strange to be the one making the decision.   
  
Kurt looks around quickly as the insane room morphs into a playground of possibilities, and it occurs to him that he kind of wants Blaine _everywhere_ and all at once. He lets his gaze wander until his vision finally locks up and freezes - and all the scenarios Kurt’s envisioning play out at the same time: Blaine straddling his lap on the ladybug-cupid chair as they jerk each other off (with any luck, they’ll ruin it); Blaine floating in the Jacuzzi with his head thrown back in ecstasy as Kurt sucks him off; Kurt sitting on the desk, hips jerking frantically as Blaine blows him; Blaine hovering over Kurt as they sixty-nine on the plush, red carpeting; Kurt pinning Blaine against the wall as they thrust against each other with messy kisses and fumbling hands and trembling thighs –   
  
And then there’s a startling moment of clarity where he knows exactly what he wants and where he wants it, and he tightens his grip on Blaine’s waist, bending forward to breathe two soft words into his ear _: “The balcony.”  
  
_ Blaine freezes against him. “Are you serious? What if someone hears us?”   
  
“Well,” Kurt murmurs against the shell of Blaine’s ear, causing him to shiver slightly, “I’ll guess you’ll have to be _very_ quiet, won’t you?”   
  
Blaine’s eyes fly open. “I’ll have to”-   
  
Kurt distracts him by kissing him into oblivion. He presses the advantage, licking his way into his boyfriend’s mouth until Blaine is yielding to him, opening and acquiescing, and he is so _meltingly_ hot and wet beneath him that Kurt almost wants to abandon his current plan and create a new plan that involves fucking Blaine’s mouth. But no; that's a bad idea.   
  
Because Kurt had realized something important in that startling moment of clarity, and what he’d realized is that there is a crucial distinction between _Blaine letting him have control_ and _him making Blaine lose control_. And right now? He’s more interested in option two.   
  
He breaks the kiss and tugs Blaine toward the balcony. Blaine shoves Kurt up against the door and attacks his mouth hungrily while Kurt reaches behind him, fumbling desperately for the doorknob. After a few bad tries, he manages to find it, but he can’t quite seem to – is there a freaking _child-proof lock_ on this thing?   
  
“Get it open,” growls Blaine urgently.   
  
“I’m trying”-   
  
“Try _harder_ ,” he hisses, grinding his pelvis against Kurt’s - and finally, the lock mechanism springs free and the door swings open. The boys practically stumble out onto the cement, drinking each other in as the spring night air surrounds them.   
  
Kurt steers Blaine toward the edge, feeling rough and wild and more turned-on than he can ever remember being.   
  
He wraps his arms around Blaine from behind, groaning helplessly at the friction of his boyfriend’s ass against his erection. “Grab the railing,” he says, his voice sounding low and harsh to his ears.   
  
Blaine twists his head around. “What?” he breathes out, sounding stunned.   
  
Impatient, Kurt pushes Blaine forward until his chest is pressed against the railing. He grabs his wrists and drags them onto it. “Hold on,” he says, and Blaine does, his fingers curling tightly around the cool metal.   
  
Kurt takes a step back and places a hand between Blaine’s shoulder blades, pressing gently downward. Blaine seems to get the message, and he lowers his torso until he’s half-bent over the railing with his ass sticking out.   
  
“Oh my _god_ ,” says Blaine, his voice high and desperate. “Kurt, are you – are you going to fuck me?”   
  
Kurt considers this, a teasing smile playing at the corner of his lips, although Blaine obviously can’t see it. “Yes,” he says finally, and Kurt sees Blaine tense, his hold on the railing becoming a death-grip.   
  
“I didn’t see you get the – don’t we need - ?”   
  
“No,” says Kurt, dropping down to his knees and planting a gentle kiss at the small of Blaine’s back. He slides down Blaine’s boxers, carefully easing them over his boyfriend’s swollen cock. When they drop to the cement, Kurt smacks Blaine’s thigh lightly and he steps out of his underwear. Kurt shucks his own underwear off and slides both pairs of boxers under his knees – it won’t make much difference, but it’ll help a little – and then returns to his attention to Blaine, cupping the warm globes of his ass in his hands.   
  
“Kurt”- says Blaine, and his voice is a quiet plea. “What – what are you - ?”   
  
Kurt spreads Blaine’s cheeks apart and noses forward, dragging his tongue firmly along the length of the crease. Blaine gets it immediately – he’s always been sharp that way – and gasps out: “ _Ohmygod_. Kurt, you – you don’t have to”-   
  
And then Kurt swirls his tongue in slow, teasing circles around the rim of Blaine’s opening and the sentence ends abruptly, which had definitely _not_ been Kurt’s plan all along.   
  
“ _Kurt_ ”- Blaine chokes out.   
  
The sound of his name spoken aloud like that undoes Kurt completely.   
  
He dives forward again, and there is nothing slow or tentative or teasing about his ministrations this time. He laves his tongue wetly across Blaine’s entrance over and over, wishing he could see what he was doing, but trying his best to feel his way in the darkness. If the sounds emanating from his boyfriend are any indication, he’s _got_ this. Blaine is moaning brokenly and his breathing is harsh and uneven; sometimes he’ll let out low, shuddering sighs and sometimes his breaths are just sharp, hitching inhalations – as though he can’t drag in enough air.   
  
Every once in a while, a word will break its way to the surface: “Kurt” or “oh” or “god” being the most common, and Kurt _thrives_ on them; each sound out of Blaine’s mouth makes him bolder, makes him less inhibited.   
  
When Kurt finally summons his resolve and just _goes_ for it, sliding his tongue past the spit-slicked ring of loosened muscle, Blaine practically _screams_. His fingers scrabble desperately at the railing and he shifts his position, spreading his legs farther apart and arching up onto his toes – that part actually makes it more difficult for Kurt, but he’s pretty sure it’s a reflex.   
  
Kurt glides his hands along Blaine’s ass and hips, his fingers dragging lower to tangle themselves in the thick hair at the tops of Blaine’s thighs as he sets up a relentless rhythm, _fucking_ Blaine with hot, wet stabs of his tongue.   
  
“Uh, uh, _uhh_ -” gasps Blaine, his hips twisting now, shoving back toward Kurt. “Ohmygod. Oh. My. _Go-od_. Kurt”-  
  
And then Blaine takes his shaking right hand off the railing and starts to brush his fingers along his straining erection.  
   
Kurt pulls out of Blaine completely. “No,” says Kurt sharply, because _no_. “Hands. Back on the railing.”   
  
“Wh- what?” asks Blaine, his voice breathless. “Kurt, _no_ , please – I have to”-   
  
“You will,” says Kurt harshly. “But not yet.” And he starts licking his way back into Blaine, who folds his arms along the railing and lowers his head to his elbows with a surrendering groan.   
  
Kurt’s own cock is hard and leaking, and every inch of him is throbbing with need – but he’s drunk on this; on the taste of Blaine, on the broken sounds spilling from his mouth, on the feel of Blaine writhing beneath him.   
  
He alters his rhythm, dragging his tongue in and out of Blaine’s ass more slowly. He snakes his right hand downward and begins lightly stroking Blaine’s balls, just a gentle, teasing pressure.   
  
Blaine squirms frantically – Kurt can’t tell whether he’s trying to shove toward or away from his hand, but it doesn’t matter. He keeps his hand in place, cupping Blaine’s sac lightly in his palm and brushing his fingers gently over it - he loves the soft weight of it, warm and heavy in his hand.   
  
Blaine says something, then. He can’t make out the words; Blaine’s voice is muffled, his head still resting on his arms like a child with his head down on his desk. He says something again - “yclngme,” is what is sounds like – and then Blaine lifts his head up slightly, trying again, his voice growing stronger with each attempt: “yrklngme.yr _kilng_ me. Kurt, please. You’re _killing_ me.”   
  
Kurt shouldn’t find this as hot as he does. He really, really shouldn’t.   
  
He slides his tongue out – it’s kind of exhausting to keep up even a slow tempo after this long – and goes back to tracing the edge of Blaine’s opening in slow, gentle circles. Feeling like it isn’t possible for Blaine to be any wetter than he is right now, Kurt moves back and places the tip of his right index finger at Blaine’s entrance. He rubs Blaine’s lower back in a soothing circle with his left hand and gently eases his finger in, feeling the smooth, fiercely tight heat of Blaine clench around him as he does.   
  
“ _Fuck_!” groans Blaine. “Fuck – _please_ ”-   
  
“Is this… okay?” asks Kurt uncertainly.   
  
Blaine nods urgently and takes in a deep, shaky breath which Kurt takes to mean ‘yes.’   
  
Kurt builds a gentle rhythm; just a slow, slick slide that soon leaves Blaine practically sobbing, his hips rocking backward to meet Kurt’s shallow thrusts. Emboldened, Kurt slides his finger in deeper – and Blaine pushes himself up, standing up nearly straight, thighs shaking slightly, and wraps a hand around his cock.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he says desperately. “I _can’t_ – _fuck_ , I have to come”-   
  
And Kurt reaches around and bats his hand away, dragging Blaine’s wrist and pinning it behind his back. “ _No_ ,” growls Kurt.  
  
Blaine lets out a strangled hiss. “Kurt, _please_ , I can’t – god, _fuck_ , I’ll do anything – _anything_ …”   
  
Kurt had had no idea that this was true about himself until tonight, but apparently he is _not_ the sort of person to be trusted with power. This is like a drug – like a beautiful, potent, and wickedly addictive drug. Undeterred, Kurt keeps sliding his finger in and out of Blaine’s ass, and Blaine digs his fingernails viciously into Kurt’s other wrist where their hands are still joined behind Blaine’s back – and _fuck_ , it seems Kurt’s even more twisted than he’d realized because he’s getting off on _that_ , too.   
  
He eases his index finger back out – his plan is to start licking again – but as soon as he does, Blaine shoves himself off the railing, spinning around in a fast, fluid movement that literally knocks Kurt backward on his ass. He winces slightly as his backside makes contact with the cement and looks up to see Blaine towering over him, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing with lust and desperation. It occurs to Kurt for the very first time that he _may_ not have thought this plan through all the way. He’d known he’d wanted to make Blaine lose control. But he’d never actually thought about what would happen if his plan worked.   
  
Their hands are still joined from where Blaine’s had been pinned and Blaine’s fingers are still digging tightly into Kurt’s wrist. A long, hungry look passes between them, and Kurt has only a second in which to think _oh, shit-  
  
_ Before Blaine growls low in his throat and _yanks_ Kurt up by his wrist –   
  
And then Kurt is crashing into Blaine, plastered against Blaine; and Blaine grinds their hips together, their erections sliding slickly-   
  
And then Blaine spins them around so fast that Kurt feels a dizzying swoop low in his abdomen-   
  
And then the cool metal of the balcony railing is digging insistently against the center of his back. Blaine tangles a hand into Kurt’s hair and forces his chin up, sucking a bruise onto the skin of his bared throat, and Kurt is certain that he’s _never_ felt more vulnerable - or more exhilarated. It feels like he and Blaine are trapped in their own little bubble, right in the center of the world – with the stars in the night sky above them and the lights of the city below them.   
  
Blaine cups the side of Kurt’s face, drawing him out of his thoughts and when he meets Blaine’s eyes, the expression in them is so startlingly intense that he couldn’t look away if he wanted to.   
  
Kurt hooks a leg around Blaine’s, until they’re twined together as closely as possible. Kurt finally, _finally_ licks his palm and curls his fingers around Blaine’s cock. Blaine moans quietly and wraps a shaking hand around Kurt’s erection, the other arm looped tightly around Kurt’s waist and _fuck_ – this is just – so –   
  
They’ve done this before, jerked each other off, dozens if not hundreds of times over the past fourteen months. It was one of the first things they’d learned to do to one another. But somehow it feels insanely, indescribably different tonight.   
  
There are a few words Kurt would consistently use to describe the way they are with one another in bed: _Sweet. Fun. Playful. Sexy._   
  
This? This is none of those things. This isn’t _sweet_ and it isn’t _fun_ and it certainly isn’t playful – and in the weirdest and best way possible, it doesn’t even really feel sexy.   
  
It feels new; it feels scary-new, actually – like Kurt’s just been born into the world without knowing how or why, or like he’s gone in search of an undiscovered land and has no idea what he’ll find when he gets there.   
  
The hand that isn’t stroking Blaine from root to tip finds its way to Blaine’s face; he needs to feel him, touch him. “Blaine?” he whispers.   
  
“I’m here,” Blaine says instantly, reassuringly, locking eyes with Kurt.

“Blaine”- says Kurt again, a frantic, questioning edge to his voice.   
  
“I know,” says Blaine roughly, his voice shaking with emotion. “God, Kurt – _I know.”  
_  
Kurt doesn’t relax exactly, but he calms down enough to focus more of his energy on Blaine. He twists his hand just under the edge of Blaine’s cock as he works it over, and he swipes his thumb carefully over the tip, spreading the pearlized drops of pre-come that are seeping out. Blaine gives a low shudder at that and increases the tempo of his hand on Kurt, until Kurt’s forced to bite his lip and try to keep from shaking himself apart.   
  
They increase their rhythm again, setting a more frantic pace, their hands and fingers slip-sliding at the place where they join, where they’re reaching across, and Kurt lets out a high-pitched whine – _fuck_ – this feels _insane_ –   
  
Kurt knows deep-down in his bones that he will _die_ if Blaine stops stroking him; he’ll die – but he’s equally sure that if Blaine keeps going, it’s going to _kill_ him.   
  
As Kurt approaches the edge, it starts to feel less scary-new to him, and more like they’re hurtling toward something beautiful but inevitable; like the changing of the tides or the slow drag of the sun across the sky or – growing up, which is both of those things: Beautiful. And inevitable.   
  
“I’m – in love with you,” chokes out Blaine.   
  
“I’m – yes – me, too. I’m in love with you,” Kurt manages to get out; because he is, he _so_ is.   
  
And then that’s it; he can’t hold back. Everything in him clenches fiercely tight and then releases all at once as his hips arch up and _fuck_ , he’s coming _everywhere_ – on his own stomach and Blaine’s and on the balcony, and all he can do is groan loudly as his muscles pulse and contract uncontrollably. He clings tightly to Blaine, who strokes him through it, and it takes all of Kurt’s willpower not to sink to the ground, to keep fisting Blaine’s cock. But it’s not long after that his hand feels a low, familiar twitch and Kurt strokes upward once, twice - and then Blaine is trembling, _shaking_ , moaning helplessly as he comes; hot liquid splashing against Kurt’s chest, some of it dripping down onto the ground.   
  
Blaine clings to Kurt, then, as though he’d be able to keep them both standing (he can’t), and they end up sliding to the ground, which is – kind of gross actually, as they’re now not only covered in but _lying_ in a mixture of their come. But they’re definitely not able to move at the moment and - as with everything else that life throws their way - they find a way to make it work. 

  
  
**0000  
  
0000  
  
0000**   
  
 

_Four hours post-prom  
_

Kurt feels utterly boneless and completely blissful, floating in Blaine’s arms as the jets from the Jacuzzi massage his back and shoulders.   
  
“That was… amazing,” he says breathlessly.   
  
“God, Kurt, I can’t even…” Blaine trails off. “I mean, I knew you were incredible, but that was just…”  
  
“Mmm,” says Kurt, nuzzling under Blaine’s neck. “I know what you mean.”   
  
After a few seconds of companionable silence, Kurt twists around until he’s nearly sitting in Blaine’s lap. “I have to tell you something, though. I’m still not sure I can top. Maybe I can someday – maybe - but I know I can’t right now.”   
  
“Kurt,” says Blaine with a groan, “trust me when I say that as of tonight, I officially do _not_ care about that. We’ll either figure that out someday – or we won’t. I’m not in a rush, and if it happens, then cool. Great. Whatever. I think it’s safe to say our sex life fucking _rocks_ , with or without it. I’m honestly not sure I’ll be able to handle it if it gets any better.” He looks at Kurt wonderingly, shaking his head. “I’m honestly not sure I can handle _you_ – I had no idea you were so…”   
  
“Adorable?” finishes Kurt hopefully, fluttering his eyelashes.   
  
Blaine raises an eyebrow. “Yes, Kurt, it was particularly _adorable_ when you shoved your tongue up my ass and refused to let me com”-   
  
“Blaine!” Kurt shrieks.   
  
His boyfriend gapes at him. “You’re the one who did it!”   
  
“I know, I know,” whines Kurt. “But it sounds so dirty when you put it like that.”

Blaine rolls his eyes. “Speaking of dirty,” he says, “I feel like we should clean up the balcony. Just in case some of our... you know...got on it. And I’m guessing we’ll have to use the towels and hand-soap in the bathroom, unless you happen to have brought rubber gloves and disinfecting wipes”-   
  
“Well, of course I brought rubber gloves and disinfecting wipes,” says Kurt with a shrug. “They’re in my bag of prom supplies. And the wipes are organic – what do you think would be better, fragrance free or lemon-scented?”   
  
Blaine stares at him dubiously. “I take back what I said. I _definitely_ can’t handle you.”   
  


  
**0000  
  
0000  
  
0000   
**  
 

_Four hours and fifteen minutes post-prom  
_

 

They decide not to risk certain death on the bed and – being the creative individuals that they are – they drag the mattress onto the floor and build a fort out of the sheets and blankets.   
  
“So…” says Kurt, snuggled up as tightly as possible to his handsome architect boyfriend (Blaine had largely been responsible for designing the fortifications). “Question for you.”  
  
Blaine swipes tiredly at his eyes. “Yeah?” he says, stifling a yawn.   
  
“We might theoretically never have… _sex_ -sex.”   
  
“ _Sex_ -sex?” echoes Blaine.   
  
“Don’t argue semantics with me,” grumbles Kurt. “It’s 3:48 in the morning and you _know_ what I mean.”  
  
“I do,” confirms Blaine. “And yeah – I mean, I think we’ll figure it out eventually. But it’s possible that we won’t, and I’d be fine with that.”

“So… what does that mean in terms of us losing our virginity?”   
  
Blaine frowns, deep in thought. “That’s an interesting point. I think - hmm. Okay. I think if anyone _asks_ me whether or not I’m a virgin – I mean anyone other than, like, my grandmother – at this point, I’d say no.”   
  
“But you would have said you were a virgin this morning.”   
  
He nods. “Yeah, I would have.”  
  
Kurt twists around, looping his arms around Blaine’s neck. “So does that mean that we lost our virginity on prom night after all?”   
  
Blaine looks pensive. “I mean… yeah. It can mean that, if you want it to. I guess it's more a state of mind, anyway."  
  
“You seem kind of… Like, are you waiting for a better offer or something?”   
  
“God, _no_. It’s not that. It has nothing to do with you – well, yes it does, actually. It’s just – the more I think about it, the more I... don't even know how much I like the concept."  
  
Kurt raises an eyebrow. “You mean because we’re gay? So, like, different rules apply?”   
  
“Maybe that’s partly it,” admits Blaine. “But - I think I don't even like it in general. For anyone. And after tonight, I don't even _get it_ , really."  
  
“Get what?”   
  
“The idea behind it. Losing your virginity.”   
  
“Why? What’s wrong with it?”   
  
Blaine strokes a hand along Kurt’s face, kisses the freckles on his nose and the dimples on his cheeks. “I _love_ you, Kurt. I love everything about you. And when I think about what we did tonight… together…” Blaine shakes his head, a slow, dreamy smile on his face. “I don’t feel like there’s any part of me that I lost."  
  
Kurt’s breath hitches; he feel his eyes well up unexpectedly. “Me, neither,” he says. “I just keep finding new things. Good things.”   
  
Blaine clasps Kurt’s hand and brings it up to his mouth; gently kissing the back of his knuckles.  
  
“So just to clarify…” says Kurt. “We’re _not_ virgins. But we never _lost_ our virginity.”  
  
Blaine waves a hand airily. “Something like that. We’ll make it work.”   
  
Kurt surges forward suddenly, pressing a kiss to Blaine’s forehead. “You’re absolutely crazy,” he informs him. “And I’m absolutely in love with you.”   
  
Blaine looks at Kurt fondly and takes a deep breath. “Look, I know it’s kind of… _weird_ , maybe, to talk about us being together years in the future. I know we’re really young and I know we both have a lot of growing up to do. But – I see it. Like, in my mind. I can picture it. Like flash-forwards or dreams”-   
  
“Are they good dreams?”   
  
Blaine nods. “They’re my favorites.”  
  
“It’s not weird, Blaine. I think about it, too. And we’re not _that_ young. You’ll be nineteen in two months.”  
  
“True,” admits Blaine. “Romeo and Juliet were thirteen and seventeen.”  
  
Kurt gapes at him. “Of all the couples – _they’re_ the ones you want to compare us to?”   
  
“They’re a classic couple!” protests Blaine. “They had a love that lasted.”   
  
“It lasted because they _died_ , Blaine; they probably would have broken up a few months later.”  
  
“Well, then, we have a head start on them. We’ve lived longer _and_ we’ve been together longer.”   
  
“And our fashion sense is clearly superior,” points out Kurt.   
  
Blaine shifts his weight abruptly until he’s straddling Kurt, hovering over him and kissing him deeply. “And I might be biased, but I’d say our balcony scene was a little more interesting.”   
  
And Kurt’s torn between wanting to laugh – and wanting to groan at his boyfriend’s supreme dorkiness – and wanting to kiss Blaine silly – and wanting to drift asleep in Blaine’s arms.   
  
All of those options sound equally appealing, and Kurt decides then and there that - with a few life milestones now behind him – and with all the possibilities of his future stretching before him -   
  
As long as Blaine’s with him?   
  
He’s not even a little scared of whatever will come next.

  
  
**FIN**


	8. An exciting bonus!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist. :)

_**Wingate Hotel Properties Comment Card  
**_  
  
**First Name:** Blurt  
**Last Name:** Andermel  
**Zip:** 45801  
**Email:[dapperbabypenguin@gmail.com](mailto:dapperbabypenguin@gmail.com)**  
**Where did you stay:**  Wingate by Wyndham; honeymoon suite - Lima, Ohio  
**Month of stay** : May 2012  
  
  
**Please rate the following areas based upon your experience  
**  
**Reservations** _Good_ Fair Poor  
**Check in/out** Good _Fair_ Poor  
**Room condition** ~~Good Fair Poor~~ Atrocious  
**Breakfast** _Good_ Fair Poor  
**General facilities** _Good_ Fair Poor  
**Grounds** _Good_ Fair Poor  
**Overall value** Good _Fair_ Poor  
  
****  
Please tell us if you had problems in these areas  
  
Maintenance or Housekeeping Yes _No_  
  
  
**Comments and recognition**  
  
  
**Is there an employee you would like to recognize?** _Dear blonde woman at the front desk with the pixie-cut and the turquoise eye-shadow:_ The next time you want to give someone a complimentary upgrade from the standard guest room, please RESIST THAT URGE. However, we know you meant well, so in consideration I'm going to tell you for your own good that you'd look better with a shoulder-length layered hairstyle and that you should wear a lighter shade of lip gloss if you're going to go with an eye-shadow that bold. Loved the scarf; it was really working for me.  
  
**General comments** : The decor in the room was hideous to the point of nauseating. The atmosphere was not conducive to ~~gay sex~~   ~~any sex~~ romance. That ladybug-cupid chair should be burned in a fire, the bed sheets should be recalled because they're a complete ~~cockblock~~ safety hazard, and that baby-carriage soap dish was _offensive_. It _offended us_. We will be e-mailing you a list of appropriate decorating schemes and we'll expect to hear that they've been duly implemented.  
  
We can confirm that there is some paint chipping off the balcony railing, although we'd like to commend whoever installed it, as it is very sturdy.  ~~We cleaned off the balcony as best we~~   ~~There may have been a slight~~    ~~It might smell vaguely lemon-scented~~ We enjoyed the balcony. It was very nice.  
~~~~  
**Overall Experience:** Life-changing.  <3  
  
**Would you like to join our frequent guest program?** Dear god, no.  
  
_Return this comment card to our front desk staff and you’ll be automatically entered to win a FREE night’s stay at the Lima Wingate_!     ~ Really, there's no need to enter us in. We are merely returning this card as an act of charity toward future honeymooners. Thanks, anyway! :)


End file.
